100 Situations: Captain Planet and the Planeteers
by OzQueene
Summary: 100 separate stories/chapters, each inspired by a brief prompt. Various characters, pairings and situations. CH/27: EAT: Wheeler and Linka make the most of their location and indulge in a midnight snack.
1. Reverse

This is the first chapter of what will eventually (I hope) be something that is 100 chapters long! I've unofficially claimed a 100-prompt table from a community on livejournal (**100_situations**) in which 100 one-word prompts are set to inspire 100 separate stories! I'm sure some of the chapters will be linked together, but I'm really hoping to write some pairings, characters and situations I have never written before.

What you'll probably see a lot of: Various pairings, common ones including Kwame/Gi, Wheeler/Gi, Wheeler/Linka and Plunder/Blight. I'm also keen to try other pairings, but these are the common ones I tend to write. Drama, angst, hurt/comfort, character exploration, back story, alternate universe/reality, episode-based fic. Het, gen. Occasional slash - I love the idea of certain pairings, I just have to work harder at writing slash!

What you might see, but what will probably happen rarely: Fluff (I have to be in a specific mood to read it AND write it, though it'll be scattered here and there, I imagine), fics heavily featuring Ma-Ti, Greedly, Captain Planet, Skumm - though, I guess, never say never. There are 100 prompts, after all! That's a lot of fic.

Please note that since starting this project, FFN has updated their look. The summary at the top of the page is only for the latest chapter - each chapter has its own summary included, as well as notes, word count and ratings.

Anyway, here we go! I hope you enjoy :) And remember, every chapter is different, so if this one isn't to your taste - try the next one!

* * *

**Title/Prompt:** Reverse  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG  
**Word count:** 4900~  
**Summary:** There's a reason Dr. Blight is the way she is, and Wheeler's not happy to discover he's got a hand in it.

******Notes: **Unbeta'd. Set during the episode _Two Futures_, where Blight sends Wheeler back in time. Some knowledge of that episode would be handy, but I don't think it's essential. You might be a little lost if you're not familiar with the canon, but hopefully not so much that you won't enjoy the story!

* * *

Wheeler kicked the ice wall of the cavern, furiously. "Look what you've done now!" he cried, turning around to glare at Doctor Blight.

"Me?" she asked incredulously. "If you idiots hadn't come rampaging in here with that big blue buffoon, none of this would ever have happened."

"Well that big blue buffoon is going to come smashing through that wall of ice any moment now," Wheeler snapped. "And when he does, you'll –"

"I don't think so," MAL said in a sing-song voice. "It would appear that some of Doctor Blight's toxic energy sources are leaking through into that ice..."

"Shit," Wheeler muttered, running his hand through his hair. He stepped back to regard the wall. It was huge, and totally solid. There was no way he'd be able to get through it without Captain Planet's help. As if on cue, his ring glowed softly, indicating that Captain Planet had returned the Planeteers' powers. The toxic energy from Blight's technology had made the ice even less penetrable than before.

"Well, looks like we're stuck," Blight said carelessly, slinging herself into a chair. "Got anything to eat?"

Wheeler glared at her. "You think it's funny?"

"Who's laughing?" she asked in surprise. "But those Planeteers will get through to you somehow. The statistics of your successes are annoyingly high."

"Let's just hope they get through in time," MAL said, sounding smug. "Your CO2 levels are rising."

Blight suddenly looked alarmed, and that worried Wheeler more than anything.

* * *

Wheeler was feeling sleepy. He didn't think that was a good sign, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it. MAL was giving annoyingly-regular updates on the CO2 levels in the small space they were trapped in.

"There's a way out, you know," Blight said eventually. She had been quiet, and Wheeler had noticed her head was lolling tiredly towards her chest.

He gave her a sharp look. "There is?"

She pointed to the humming pool that sat between them. "We go back in time."

He scoffed and leaned back against the wall.

"I mean it," Blight said. "You go back and you can fix this."

"Me?" he asked. "You're the one that got us into this mess in the first place!"

She sighed impatiently. "Look, we can sit here and die, or we can reverse everything."

"Yeah, I'm sure that won't have any negative effects," he said sarcastically.

"And what will dying achieve, exactly?" she asked, smirking at him.

He hunched his shoulders and drew his knees up to his chest. "Forget it," he muttered.

Blight got to her feet and headed for the pool. "I'm going," she declared. "None of this would have happened if it weren't for you stupid Planeteers."

"Yeah, God knows what sort of fix the world would be in if it weren't for us," he snapped.

She smirked at him again. "What's it gonna be, Sparky? Time over? Or death?"

Wheeler glowered at her. "Blight, we can't..."

She grinned at him and flicked a switch on the machine in the middle of the room. The water sloshed and started to whirl, light pulsing across its surface.

"Make up your mind," she sang at him. She turned to MAL. "I'll come back for you, MAL baby."

He smiled at her.

Wheeler rolled his eyes and staggered to his feet. It didn't look like he had a choice.

* * *

Blight had somehow managed to land on her feet. Wheeler had not – he looked up at her, his shoulder aching from striking the sidewalk. "Where are we?" he asked with a groan.

"Where are _you_?" Blight asked, looking around frantically. "We have to get to you before that ring does."

Wheeler scrambled to his feet. Suddenly, everything looked familiar. "This is the night I got my Planeteer ring!" he said accusingly. "What are you doing?"

"We _have_ to stop that ring getting to you so we don't end up in that cavern," Blight said frantically. "Where were you, _exactly,_ this time one year ago? I traced you back to the time of Gaia's first contact, but sometimes the machine doesn't always land me right where I want to go. You're supposed to be getting your ring at any moment now."

"Why couldn't you just send us back twelve hours?" Wheeler asked angrily. "I don't want to stop being a Planeteer!"

Voices echoed at them down the alley and Blight took off, her boots clicking loudly on the street. Wheeler hurried after her, and skidded to a halt.

_He_ stood there, grinning after a pair of fleeing gang members. Any moment now, his ring was going to flare out of a trash can on a ribbon of flame...

He saw it – the flame roared high and his past-self took a step back in alarm, reaching out automatically for the tiny object souring towards him through the air.

"No!" Blight screamed.

He looked up in alarm and she punched him in the face. The ring clattered to the ground and Past Wheeler fell like a sack of potatoes.

"Ouch!" Wheeler cried, touching his nose as though it should be tender. "What did you do that for?"

Blight pocketed the ring. "Come on!" she snapped impatiently. "Before you wake up. I don't want you changing your mind."

"This is weird," Wheeler muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "And I don't think you should have that ring."

"If I give it to _you_, you'll be transported to the present and we'll go right back to the same mess we were in five minutes ago," she said impatiently, marching down the alley.

He glanced down at – himself. He looked okay. Wheeler sighed and followed Bight wearily, wondering just what sort of scale this mistake would be measured on.

"Come on!" Blight shouted back at him. "We need to find me so I can help myself out of this mess."

"Yeah," Wheeler sighed. "This was definitely not a good idea."

* * *

"It's been hours," Wheeler moaned, trudging after Blight. "Couldn't you organise yourself to pick us up or something?"

"I'm pretty sure I was holed away working on something that had to do with DNA... or something," Blight said, wrinkling her forehead. "Just consider yourself lucky I wasn't hidden away in another country or something."

"Yeah, I'm incredibly lucky that your whacko experiments are currently sitting smack-bang in the middle of New York City," Wheeler said, rolling his eyes.

She glared at him. "You know, you don't _have_ to follow me," she said irritably. "You can run home to mommy and daddy and just forget about everything."

"That's not the idea!" Wheeler fumed. "All we needed was to get out of the cavern. I'm still a Planeteer, Blight. I just need to find Gaia and figure out how to get things back on track again."

Blight scoffed and peered down another alley. They were all starting to look the same to Wheeler.

"I think this is it," she said. "You stand back."

"Why, are you in a bad mood today?" he asked, leaning against the wall tiredly.

Blight ignored him and hammered on the door. After a few moments there was an unmistakable voice from the other side.

"Who's there?"

"It's me!" Blight called. "Open the door. There's been a – a mistake." She glanced to Wheeler with a wry grin and he rolled his eyes.

The door flew open and Blight stood facing Blight, a look of astonishment on her face. "What the hell?" she asked softly.

"Hey!" Dr. Blight said brightly. "Can we come in?"

* * *

Wheeler took the chance to look around Blight's lab as the doubles were talking. They both seemed overly-excited by the idea, though past-Blight was, to his surprise, much mellower than the Blight he was familiar with. She listened curiously as her future self ranted and raved about what she'd been through over the previous 24 hours and how she'd ended up a year into her own past.

"Stupid Planeteers," she ranted, coming to the end of her story.

"Hey, don't blame us!" Wheeler snapped. "If you hadn't been messing around with this stuff in the first place, everything would be okay."

"Who the hell are you?" the other Blight asked, speaking to Wheeler for the first time.

"He's one of those eco-brats," Blight dismissed, waving her hand.

Other Blight blinked. "Who?"

"The Planeteers don't exist here, remember?" Wheeler asked, turning to the Blight he knew. "She doesn't know who we are."

"Oh, right," she said carelessly.

"Is he yours?" Other Blight asked curiously.

"Do whatever you want with him," Blight answered, eagerly running her eyes over the giant contraption near the wall. "Is that the DNA super-coiling technology I was working on?"

"Uh, yeah," Other Blight said. "Does it work?"

Blight scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course it does. But you know if you really wanted to get ahead, you should focus on the force-field ray you were working on a while ago. And this time, make sure there aren't any issues with it, because when you go to use it for the first time, there's this weakness that –"

"Excuse me?" Other Blight asked, raising her eyebrow. "If you're coming back here to tell me I'm not –"

"I could save you so much time!" Blight interrupted excitedly. "If we put our heads together we could do anything!"

"I think I've been doing quite well by myself, thank you," Other Blight said icily.

"Could you two stop bickering and help me figure out what we're supposed to do now?" Wheeler asked, feeling frustrated and lost.

Blight glanced at him and smirked. "What are you talking about? We got out of the cavern, didn't we?"

"You want to stay like this?" he asked incredulously. "We can't do that, Blight."

"Well what do you propose then?" she snapped.

"I need to get in touch with Gaia," he said after a moment. "That seems like the –"

"Hey, you know what?" Blight asked, turning to Other Blight. "You can probably lock him up. Or kick him out of here."

"Why?" Other Blight asked. "Is he insane or something?"

"Yes," Blight said very seriously. "He stands for everything we oppose."

"Why should I believe you?" Other Blight asked curiously.

"Because I'm _you_!" Blight replied impatiently. "You can trust me. You. Us."

Other Blight chewed her lip for a moment. "Hm," she said after a moment. "What do you think, MAL?"

For the first time since they'd arrived, MAL's green face appeared, smirking at them from the monitor. "You look the same to me, Doctor. If it's a disguise, it's a very good one."

"Looks aren't everything," Other Blight breathed, though she took a careful moment to tilt her hips and thrust her chest out.

"I'm outta here," Wheeler muttered. "Later."

"No!" Blight shrieked, pointing at him as he turned his back. "Stop him, or he'll ruin everything!"

He was stopped, all right. Wheeler hit the floor hard, twitching slightly, his eyes wide.

"What is that – the stun gun?" Blight asked. "I thought I got rid of that."

Other Blight smirked and tossed the device aside. "Sometimes it's good to go back to basics."

Blight narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're an idiot."

Wheeler murmured something indistinct, blinking up at the ceiling. Other Blight grabbed his hand and dragged him slowly across the floor, grunting with the effort.

Wheeler's head lolled back and he looked up at her. "What are you doing?" he asked, slurring his words slightly.

"Just relax," Other Blight said, grinning down at him. "It'll wear off."

Wheeler squinted up at her as she pulled him along the floor. "I don't think I like you, Past Blight," he muttered. "I think I like you better in the timeline I'm familiar with. I know what you're thinking, then. I know it's always something crazy. You scare me more when you act normal."

She frowned down at him, but didn't say anything.

"Where are we going?" he asked, trying to resist her slightly. His muscles tingled and ached, providing no help whatsoever.

"Just here," she breathed, dragging him into what appeared to be a storage closet. "You're heavy."

"I'm a growing boy," he muttered, flopping back onto the floor as she dropped him.

She stood over him. "So you stand for everything I oppose?" she asked.

"Pretty much," he agreed tiredly.

"Why are you with her then? Me, I mean. Why are you with me?"

"It was a choice of Blight or Death," Wheeler muttered. "I took Blight."

"So what now?" she asked.

"I gotta figure that out," he admitted. "I think I reversed something I wasn't supposed to."

"Should've chosen death, huh?" she asked, bending closer to him.

He blinked up at her nervously. "You weren't exactly going to sit there and accept death either, you know," he said.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked, frowning slightly. "What backfired?"

"There was a collapse in an ice-cavern," he muttered. "That part wasn't your fault."

Blight glanced back towards the door and then dropped to her knees, straddling him.

"Oh my god," he moaned. "Don't. This is already too weird."

"She's different to me," Other Blight said, tilting her head in the direction of the main room.

"Please get off me," he said desperately. "This is already a bad dream. I don't want it to turn into a nightmare."

"Why does she hate you so much?" Other Blight asked, touching the Planeteer emblem on his t-shirt curiously.

"Why are you acting so weird?" Wheeler asked worriedly. "You're usually so angry and short-tempered."

"I am?" she asked. She laughed and put her hands on his shoulders, looking down at him.

"You don't have to prove how nice you are," he blurted. "I believe you. But I'd rather you treat me like you usually do, which is like shit, honestly..."

She smirked and bent over him, landing a kiss hard on his mouth. He gave a groan and wriggled under her, trying to pull away.

She broke away and got to her feet, another breathless laugh making it into the air. "I don't know why she hates you so much," she breathed, running her hands through her hair. "If I'd met you first, you'd be treated a lot better."

"You _did_ meet me!" he roared after her as she closed the door behind her. "And you hated me too!"

* * *

"Are you awake?"

Wheeler blinked and looked up. "Oh, man," he sighed. "Am I glad to see you."

Gaia looked less than impressed. "What have you done?"

"What choice did I have?" he asked miserably, sitting up and leaning against the shelves of the storage closet.

"You thought your friends were just going to give up on you?" Gaia asked.

"Of course not!" he said in alarm. "I just didn't think they'd get there in time."

Gaia sighed and shook her head. "Wheeler, you have to get your ring back. You have to get it off Blight or all those Planeteer missions will have been useless."

"I don't know how easy that's gonna be," he admitted. "I've got two Blights to deal with, now."

Gaia shook her head and smiled. "Still just the one. Wheeler, the Blight you're familiar with is _very_ different to the Blight you met tonight. She's by no means sane, or sensible, but she's less..." She paused and gave a sigh. "Unreasonable."

"Why?" Wheeler asked suspiciously.

Gaia looked a little reluctant to speak any further, but she continued. "The Planeteers are mainly to blame," she admitted. "Every failure you've forced upon Blight and her friends made her more determined to succeed the next time. She gets more and more twisted every time you meet. But if you play your cards right, you can get the early Blight to help you out of here."

"Will it change the future?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't think so," Gaia admitted. "She'll still try out her experiments and she'll still meet the Planeteers at some stage. She's too careless and reckless to change her ways completely."

Wheeler looked up at Gaia meekly. "Sorry," he said. "I just didn't want to die alone in an ice cave with Blight's face in front of me."

Gaia smiled and shook her head. "That's never going to happen. Now get your ring back, okay? Or dying alone in an ice cave with Blight will look like a better alternative to the one you're facing now."

"I'll get it back," he promised. "I'll fix everything."

"Good," she agreed. "I'll be waiting for you. And so will the others."

* * *

Wheeler felt slightly sick when the door opened and he saw Blight standing there. He took a breath and got to his feet.

"You're not my Blight, right?" he asked, feeling hopeful.

She grinned. "How can you tell?"

"Uh, you look younger," he said.

She beamed at him. "She said not to let you out. But she doesn't want you to starve and stink up our closet, so here..." She tossed a grease-stained paper bag at him. He glanced inside, noted the hamburger, and his stomach growled.

"Oh, thanks," he said in relief. After a moment he realised he was supposed to be escaping. He glanced up at her, setting the burger down on one of the nearby shelves. "Can you do me a favour?" he asked.

She sauntered towards him playfully, and his stomach stopped growling and started heaving instead. He backed against the wall.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Seriously, Dr. Blight, you don't like me," he said desperately. "The future you is telling the truth. You don't have to be so friendly..."

She smirked at him. "She was telling me some of the things you've supposedly done. Why are you so intent on stopping me?"

"Because you're crazy," he snapped. He blinked. "But uh, please help me get out of here. I need to go and meet someone."

"Who?" she asked, pouting slightly.

"A friend," he said vaguely. "But Dr. Blight took something of mine and I really need it back."

"I dunno," she said, sounding suspicious. "If you really do manage to stop all my future plans, it's probably a good idea to keep you locked up here."

"It's really not," he said. "It's true that I stop a lot of your plans. But you can't deny that the Blight out there is smarter than you are right now. She's quick and she's clever and she's ruthless."

Other Blight looked annoyed. "She did point out a few mistakes I've made," she muttered.

"Right," Wheeler said, nodding. "See, I did that. The Planeteers did that. We help you out, really. Though I know it may not seem that way to you. We force you to take bigger risks. We force you to get better and better..." He gave her a helpless grin. "And you do," he said. "Get better, I mean. The only way I could beat you this time was to travel back in time and reverse _everything._"

She tilted her head at him curiously. "I create a time portal?" she asked. "I've looked into that. It's not possible."

"Clearly, it is," he said irritably, nodding his head in the direction of the main lab. "She's you twelve months from now."

She chewed her lip, frowning slightly. "What about MAL?" she asked. "I don't leave him behind, do I?"

"MAL is definitely still around," Wheeler promised. "In fact, he was helping us out before by reading out the CO2 levels."

She grinned. "I bet he loved that."

"Yeah." Wheeler scratched the back of his neck. "So, do you think you could help me get my ring back from Dr. Blight?" he asked hopefully.

"What do I get in return?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

He flattened himself up against the wall. "A career full of amazing technology and adventure," he stammered. "Determination. Better technology. Less mistakes."

"Sounds lonely," she said softly, stepping right up close to him.

"You never worry about that," he blurted frantically. "Seriously, being alone doesn't worry you. You have MAL. You have the other eco-villains."

"Eco what?" She tilted her head back and laughed. "You must really twist me around, huh."

He gazed at her, filled with what could only be described as pity. "I guess we do," he whispered. "I guess we're to blame." He felt uncomfortable and guilty. "Sorry," he whispered.

She stared back at him, looking a little afraid. "Am I happy?" she asked softly.

"I dunno," he admitted. "Go ask her."

She shook her head slightly. "She'll lie. I'll lie. No matter what the answer is."

"But it's you," he said. "Would you really lie to yourself?"

She rolled her eyes. "I might get worse," she said, "but I'm not a total saint now, either, you know. I lie all the time. I can't trust myself to tell me the truth."

"This is all giving me a major headache," he said. "Can you please just go and get my ring so we can put all this right? There are so many things that will go wrong if we don't reverse this stupid decision."

Blight put her arms around his neck and he willed himself to stay still.

"Let me get this straight," she said softly. "I can help you out, and become lonely and bitter – but a _brilliant_ scientist. Or I can leave you here, trapped, and the Planeteers won't exist. I'll be an okay scientist, but it won't bother me, not succeeding all the time. I'll have other things to turn to."

"Yeah," he said. "Tough choice, huh?"

"Not really," she answered. "Science always came before people, for me. I'll get your ring back."

"You will?" He gave a grateful sigh. "Thanks."

"But that means I'm choosing the lonely life," she said. "I think you owe me something, first."

He realised he had underestimated her just slightly. She may not have been as manipulative, cruel, quick or furious as the Blight he was familiar with, but Other Blight still knew how to get what she wanted.

When she kissed him this time, he let her. His stomach still trembled with displeasure, but he didn't pull away. For the first time he realised the full impact of the Planeteers on Blight's personality, and he had to admit he didn't like it.

He wondered what her life would have been like if they hadn't prevented her first experiment, or forced so many failures upon her.

_It's not our fault_, he thought furiously. _She was testing on animals. She was destroying the environment. She may not have been as crazy as she is now, but she was still wrong. _

Her gloved fingertips ran over the back of his neck and he pulled away frantically.

"Enjoying it a little too much?" she asked, smirking at him.

"Just get my ring," he pleaded desperately. "I'm begging you."

She took a step back, dropping her arms, and looked at him rather sadly. "I'm gonna win eventually, right?" she asked. "You're not setting me up for a lonely life as a brilliant scientist that's always doomed to fail?"

He blinked and drew a deep breath. "You haven't won yet," he admitted. "But it's getting close, Blight. The technology you have..." He trailed off and shook his head. "I can't explain it. If you used it for good purposes..."

She gave a soft laugh. "I'm not _that_ different to her," she said, nodding her head back towards the main lab, where Wheeler assumed Dr. Blight still stood.

"But you are!" he said in surprise. "You're a totally different person."

She smirked. "No. There are people I need to get even with. If you train me up and force me to use more sophisticated techniques and advances, then so be it." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I guess I owe you a thank you," she said smoothly. "Make sure I say thanks when you get back to that ice cave or whatever, okay?"

She pulled the door closed and Wheeler rested his back against the wall, his emotions in turmoil.

* * *

When the door flew open half an hour later, he didn't know which Blight was facing him.

"I got it," she declared.

"Thanks," he breathed, holding his hand out.

Other Blight withdrew slightly. "Wait."

"Please," he begged, "I have to get back. This all has to be reversed."

"I thought you wanted to reverse the situation you were stuck in before?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not like this. I didn't know she was going to bring me so far back. I didn't know she was going to put an end to the Planeteers."

Other Blight frowned down at the ring in her hand. "She must really want you guys gone," she said softly. "I mean – I must. I must really want you guys gone."

He swallowed carefully. "You do," he said. "But in the end, you're better off with us in your life, Blight. Remember what I said before? You're brilliant now. But in the future..." He shook his head. "You're terrifying."

She laughed, and leaned against the wall. "Sounds pretty good," she admitted.

"Look, you know this can't last," he said softly. "You're too different to your future self. She's gonna come back here and ruin everything for you. And I can't stay here. There's another me running around out there somewhere and without the Planeteers... I don't think I'm gonna do too good."

She sighed and held the ring out. "Don't make me regret it," she warned him softly.

"You'll be okay," he promised grimly. "In twelve months, you'll forget what all of this is like. You won't care about being lonely. And you're dangerously close to running the entire world."

"Hard to imagine why you're so keen to go back then," she said, raising her eyebrow.

"Because _I_ care about being lonely," he said. "And twelve months from now, four people are trying to get me out of an ice cave. I need to be there when they dig through."

He took his ring from her palm and the world swept and changed in front of him.

* * *

"You _idiot_!"

Wheeler ducked as Blight hurled a chunk of ice at him.

"Now we're going to die!" she screeched at him. "You didn't tell me that side of the story, did you?" She slapped herself on the forehead. "Why did I have to fall asleep? I stole that ring right out of my own pocket without thinking of the consequences for myself!"

Wheeler sagged tiredly against the wall of the ice cavern, feeling exhausted. "Face it, Blight," he said. "You're better off with us. You were a nobody in an empty warehouse in New York before we came along."

"My successes are not dependant on you!" she snarled. "Besides, there were two of me! We would have been just fine! Why did I listen to you instead of myself? Who the hell do I think I am? All of a sudden I'm a wimp who can be turned around by one kiss?"

"There were two kisses," Wheeler answered coldly. "And please don't make me remember them."

She sank to the floor. "We're going to die," she moaned. "All because of you stupid Planeteers."

"Actually, it's entirely thanks to you we're back here," he said, giving her a weary grin. "You weren't so bad before you met us, you know."

She glared at him. "Stop trying to take all the credit for my brilliance," she snapped. "Why didn't you tell me you were sending me straight back to my death?"

"Because I wasn't," he explained patiently. "The Planeteers will help us. Trust me."

"Trust you?" she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Sure."

He tilted his head suddenly and grinned. "Yeah, trust me. Listen..."

She glared at him, but soon became aware of the faint chipping noises as well.

The Planeteers were digging through the wall.

* * *

Linka threw her arms around Wheeler, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, but his eyes slid over to Blight. She was staring back at him, two pasts merged into one. She and Other Blight were the same, now, and both she and Wheeler were fully aware of what her choice had meant for both of them.

She had given up the chance to turn away from science and find something else. But the Planeteers had arrived and had sparked such fury inside of her, she'd dedicated her life to besting them. Wheeler wasn't sure what that would mean for them, now. He wasn't sure how he could see her in the same light after realising just how hopeful she had been before the anger had swept in to dominate everything.

For a moment, he realised she missed the Blight who had chosen to kiss him in the storage closet. She missed the simple thrill of new creations and pleasant, basic emotions. It had all since been overtaken by intense rage and the need for destruction.

Linka kissed his cheek and he broke eye contact with Dr. Blight and gave the Wind Planeteer a shaky smile.

"Are you all right?" Linka asked worriedly.

"Yeah," he answered automatically. He flicked his eyes towards Blight and she looked away, apparently waiting for the inevitable arrest that always occurred after dealing with the Planeteers.

They hadn't forced this upon her, Wheeler realised. Her choices were still her own. But for the first time he understood that his actions as a Planeteer didn't always result in a happy ending.

Sometimes, it was the reverse.


	2. Thirst

**Title/Prompt:** Thirst

**Rating/Warnings:** G  
**Word count:** 759  
**Summary:** Ma-Ti and Red Elk have been staked out in the desert, left to the mercy of the sun.

******Notes: **Unbeta'd. Set during the episode _No Horsing Around_ during season two.

* * *

There was a nerve jumping in Ma-Ti's arm. He tilted his head back and watched his skin flicker slightly as his body twitched without his permission.

He closed his eyes. The earth was scorched and rock-hard against his back, and the sun beat down relentlessly. His skin had tightened slowly and was starting to burn. Any slight movement pulled at him and reminded him that the hot sun in the sky above was slowly cooking him.

Sweat ran down his temples into his hair. Beside him, he could hear Red Elk's rasping breath. Ma-Ti wanted to offer a word of encouragement to his friend, but his mouth felt like cotton and it was an effort to breathe.

He kept his eyes closed. Opening them was only painful, and reminded him that he was ridiculously dizzy.

_Thirsty._

He let out a soft whimper as the thought occurred. He knew he was dangerously dehydrated, but until now, he had been too focused on his other discomforts to notice how desperately he craved water. The ropes at his wrists and ankles were rubbing his skin raw, there was a sharp rock digging into his back, his skin was hot and tight, and sweat was making his eyes sting.

But nothing compared to the need for a drink. He had sudden, achingly-clear visions of Greedly holding up canteens of water, letting the liquid roll and spill freely through the air so it splattered to the ground and was quickly swallowed up by the thirsty soil. What Ma-Ti wouldn't give for just one sip of cool, clear water.

A lizard ran across the sand by Ma-Ti's arm, watching him warily with one large, round eye. Ma-Ti blinked at it tiredly, the world slowly spinning as he tried to focus.

"Ma-Ti?" Red Elk's voice was just a whisper.

Answering his friend was impossible. He tried – but his voice had long-since been beaten away by his thirst, and his chest ached and quivered with each tortured breath. He offered a small sigh in return and closed his eyes again, images of rainstorms and sweeping floods behind his eyelids. It was a strange thought – such sweeping devastation would be paradise if only one sweet, cold drop of water made its way into Ma-Ti's parched mouth.

For the first time ever, he had doubt in his mind regarding the other Planeteers. He was suddenly certain that they would be too late to save him, and they would find his body days later, stretched and crackling in the desert sun, the ants crawling over him.

If he'd had the energy or the hydration, he'd have cried.

* * *

"Ma-Ti?"

"Give him some water, Gi."

The voices bounced around the edges of his brain violently, making his head pound. He felt a cold, wet cloth being held against his mouth. Slow, clean, wonderful water trickled its way into his mouth. He gasped softly and tried to open his eyes.

"Careful, little buddy. You okay?"

His eyes simply would not open. He sank back into the earth again, but became aware that his hands and ankles had been released from the ropes. Somewhere, he could hear Kwame and Linka talking softly to Red Elk.

"We'll get you to a hospital, Ma-Ti," Gi whispered. "It'll be okay."

In the back of his mind, he argued that Greedly was still out there, and he needed to be stopped, but he had no energy to voice his concerns to the others. All he wanted was water and comfort and he didn't care how he got there. A soft bed and something cool and soothing on his burnt skin. Tall glasses of icy water that were always within reach.

"Come on, Ma-Ti..."

He heard Wheeler's voice, close and friendly, and he tried to return the comfort, but he was too weak and parched. His head lolled tiredly and he remained limp and useless as Wheeler lifted him and started to carry him. His skin screamed and burned at the lightest touch, but he was unable to offer any indication he was in pain.

He could hear Linka worrying as Wheeler carried him.

"They are both so burnt..."

His skin felt tight and hot and he knew parts of his face had started to blister. He wondered how much longer he'd been able to stand the heat. An hour? Half an hour? Minutes?

He cracked his eyes open and looked up into Wheeler's face. The Fire Planeteer grinned down at him.

"You okay, man?"

Ma-Ti sighed softly and closed his eyes again.

He'd be okay.


	3. Fly

**Title/Prompt:** Fly  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG  
**Word count:** 1260~  
**Summary:** Linka's brave, but she's not indestructible.

******Notes: **Unbeta'd. Set during _Volcano's Wrath. _(The one where Linka just jumps into a volcano. Yeah. IDK whether she's a total boss, or totally stupid. Maybe a bit of both, heh.)

* * *

She didn't even think about it. She took two quick, running steps and plummeted straight out into nothing, out of the tunnel and into the shimmering air of the open volcano. She heard Wheeler cry out her name in a panic, but it was too late to stop.

The heat hit her immediately and for an awful moment she felt faint and stupid.

_This is a terrible idea, Linka. What are you doing?_

As she started to fall, she closed her eyes in concentration.

"Wind!"

The heat sucked her breath away, but her ring glowed blissfully, surrounding her in a strong swirl of air that slowed her pace and allowed her to hover. Below her, she could see Lanai clinging desperately to the outcrop of rock, which shimmered and baked in the heat.

She could feel the draining weight of her own body dragging her down. She panted desperately, the air scorching her lungs. She coughed and called out, thankfully sounding braver than she felt.

"Lanai, catch me as I pass you!"

It was a wonder the other girl heard her. Linka's voice was hoarse and weak. She knew, instinctively, that she would not be able to fly her own weight, plus Lanai's, back up to the safety of the ledge she'd left Wheeler on.

As soon as Lanai was caught up into Linka's hurricane, the Wind Planeteer felt her strength waning. A splitting headache joined the lead that seemed to be replacing her muscles, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Had it been cool enough, Linka was sure she'd be soaked in sweat – but any moisture was immediately sucked away by the rough draughts of hot air that seemed to assault her from every angle.

She looked up desperately. Wheeler seemed terribly far away. She could see panic and fear in his eyes, and it did nothing to reassure her. Still, he called out to her, giving her a shaky smile.

"That's it, babe! Almost there!"

She wanted to smile back at him, but it would take too much energy. Too much time. Too much focus.

He was still so far away.

She gave a small, helpless cry as she finally failed, and she and Lanai both tumbled down the edge, skidding to a desperate halt on the ledge Linka had attempted to rescue her from.

Linka panted desperately, sucking the air into her lungs. The rock was scorching hot against her back and the sky spun above her. She closed her eyes.

_We don't have long._

She could feel Lanai patting her face gently. Over the pounding noise in her head, and the belching gasses and popping rocks below, she could hear her pleading.

"Linka? Please wake up..."

She tried to wave her away tiredly, intent on sitting up, but she could barely move. She had never really attempted to fly like that before... It was so draining compared to everything else she was capable of doing. She wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all.

The rock was starting to burn her bare legs. She shifted uncomfortably and Lanai gave a sigh of relief and helped her up.

Linka gave her a weary smile. "I am sorry, Lanai," she said softly. Her mouth was dry.

Lanai looked too panicked to even register what Linka had said. "We have to get out of here!" she said desperately. "What do we do now?"

Linka dared a glanced down to the lava below. It popped and swam, looking incandescent as it shifted and burst continuously. It was still far below, but the heat of it was so intense it hurt her eyes and stole her breath away.

"Look!" Lanai gasped, pointing at the sky.

Linka tipped her head back tiredly, feeling dizzy. She smiled when she saw the two long, straight beams of light. One green. One red.

She lifted her arm and her muscles seemed to scream in protest, still aching from the tension she had forced upon them moments before.

"Wind," she whispered. She watched as the light-blue streak of light raced towards the others, shaking and trembling as she waited for Gi and Ma-Ti to join their powers with the others.

The flash of light that meant Captain Planet's arrival barely registered in her mind. Everything around her was orange and glowing. Rocks and ledges closer to the surface of the glowing lava burst and exploded. The smell of sulphur and burning dust was thick in the air.

"Are you okay?" Lanai leaned over Linka anxiously. The Wind Planeteer noticed her face was red and hot, and her hair drifted and moved in the currents of air and gas that shifted around them.

_We're not going to last, here. We need to get out._

Linka gave her a weak smile and looked hopefully towards the sky. Captain Planet was tearing towards them both, wearing a slight look of concentration and worry on his face.

"Fancy a lift?" he asked, grinning at Linka and holding a hand out to Lanai.

Lanai appeared too terrified to question anything. She let Captain Planet hold her around the waist, her feet dangling uselessly over the edge of the ledge she and Linka had been perched on.

"I tried to fly," Linka gasped, wanting to explain her current state of exhaustion and distress. "I tried to fly."

"Let me take care of that, now," Captain Planet said calmly, reaching for her. She rested her head against his shoulder like a tired child, his skin blissfully cool against her cheek.

She was dizzy and disorientated. It took her several minutes to realise Captain Planet had flown both her and Lanai to safety, depositing them both gently upon the ground down near the beach.

Wheeler bent over her anxiously. "Okay, babe?"

"How did you get here?" she muttered, pushing him away gently.

"Cap," he answered, frowning and resisting her attempts to get rid of him. As always.

She flopped back into the sand. "Is it over?"

"Not yet," he answered cheerfully. "Almost. Are you feelin' any better?"

"Perfect," she answered, closing her eyes. "Almost."

"You scared the hell out of me, you know," he said, refusing to leave her alone. She felt his arm dig underneath her into the sand, lifting her gently into a sitting position. Her dizziness instantly returned and she mentally cursed him.

"We've gotta move," he said apologetically, almost sensing the frustration and dislike she was silently directing at him. "That volcano god is _pissed._"

Now that he'd mentioned it, she could hear the volcano rumbling and popping. Cracking her eyes open, a tall column of ash and smoke was drifting into the sky.

_We only just made it._

"Where are we going?" she asked tiredly, only vaguely aware that Wheeler was carrying her. "Where is Lanai?"

"She's okay," Wheeler answered. "She's with her brother. Cap and the others are gonna take care of that volcano, but I'm gonna get you back to the eco-sub, okay?"

"I tried to fly," she said miserably, looking up at him.

He grinned at her. "You did a pretty good job of it. I can make an airplane noise now, if you want, and we could pretend –"

"_Oh, eediote,_" she mumbled, closing her eyes again.

"I can understand that one," he said in a hurt voice. Hurt, though she knew he was grinning.

She was suddenly aware that though she had been well and truly distanced from the volcano, her closeness to him rivalled the heat she had felt earlier.

She smiled up at him. "Make the airplane noise, _eediote,_" she said. "Make me fly."


	4. Seek

**Title/Prompt:** Seek  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG  
**Word count:** 1716  
**Summary:** "I don't like carrying guns. I prefer other methods of assurance and protection. Do you understand?"

******Notes:** A brief exploration into Plunder and Bleak's first meeting. Very brief. But very fun to write.

* * *

Plunder was early.

The restaurant was dark and quiet, in a little side street carrying only foot traffic. A few of the tables by the front windows were taken up by couples gazing out at the rainy afternoon, lamenting about the poor weather as they sipped coffee or twirled pasta onto their forks.

Plunder had specifically taken a seat at the back, facing the front of the restaurant. He had asked for black coffee and a tall glass of iced water, and he alternated between the two as he sat watching the door.

Beneath his jacket, nestled against his ribs, a snub nose revolver sat snugly in a leather holster.

Necessary.

All the same, he didn't like it being there.

And so he had arranged a meeting.

It was odd, the position he had found himself in. Everything he had done was perfectly legal – in a sense. And yet there were people – quite insane people – who were suddenly after him, determined to bring him down, with his new empire crashing on top of him.

He cleared his throat quietly and took another sip of water as he thought about the events which had led him to this meeting.

There was a loophole in the law. It was as simple as that, really. Plunder had discovered it and used it to his advantage. He'd already logged half the forest before anyone kicked up a fuss about it, and even then he'd had the papers to declare he was _allowed_ to be there.

Still. Plunder had discovered environmental protesters rarely listened to reason, and he had quickly summoned up an extreme dislike of them. Valuable machinery had been damaged, and while he couldn't prove it, he was certain the greenies had something to do with it. Not to mention the personal threats he had received.

He felt the gun like a hundred pound weight against his chest.

Yes, protection was necessary. Plunder's logging company may have been perfectly legal when looked at from an administrative perspective, but his intentions didn't necessarily match the projections.

Plunder needed loyalty. Someone who didn't ask questions and someone who would take his word as gospel without letting morals (or laws) get in the way.

But how did you seek such a person? There wasn't exactly a henchman's classifieds.

Plunder had dug deep. He'd looked into the records of security firms and bodyguard academies. He'd visited dingy, dirty little clubs where men fought bare-knuckled and bloody, spitting their teeth to the ground before they went back for another swing.

He'd discovered crooked cops, ex-cons, violent men with timid wives and a huge underground market for weapons-free assassins.

But it was the military which had finally given him something he thought he could use. Records of those dishonourably discharged for bad conduct.

He'd spent the past six months tailing three separate men, observing them and keeping mental notes on each of them until he'd ordered them into most suited to least. It was still a close call, but Plunder hoped his number one choice would accept his offer.

He had no notes in front of him (paper only left a trail for the authorities to follow), but Plunder thought carefully about his choice as he waited for his contact to show up.

Argos Bleak.

6'8", heavy with muscle and quietly observant, Bleak appeared to be perfect for the role Plunder intended him for. He had left a message, purposely vague and intriguing, instructing Bleak to meet him. Whether or not he showed up was out of Plunder's control.

Plunder waited patiently, sipping at his water and watching the door.

When Bleak arrived, the other diners looked up before immediately averting their attention. Plunder was amused by this, and rather pleased. People were so adverse to danger they thought ignoring it would keep them safe.

Bleak did look dangerous – but perfectly sane. This was a combination Plunder liked.

Bleak spotted him and walked slowly towards him, eyeing him curiously. He had a heavy leather jacket on, which still ran and glittered with beads of rain, and jeans and black fingerless gloves. Heavy black boots made quiet thuds against the floorboards with every step he took.

"You Plunder?"

Plunder nodded and Bleak sank into the seat opposite him. He took out a cigarette and lit it, holding it low down on his fingers, between his knuckles. He blew a stream of smoke out the side of his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

"You've been following me," he said.

Plunder nodded. "Briefly."

Bleak smirked and took another drag on his cigarette. "Thought you were a cop for a while."

Plunder chuckled and tented his fingers. "Would that worry you?"

"I got nothin' I need to worry about," Bleak answered, flicking ash into Plunder's empty coffee cup. "Still want to know why you been tailin' me."

"I am the subject of some – unwanted attention," Plunder said, pausing only slightly. "My line of work has given me some rather unfortunate publicity."

"What's that then?" Bleak asked.

"It's all perfectly legal," Plunder answered with a thin smile. "Logging. Though it's certainly not the be all and end all of my operations. Just something to plump up my bank accounts."

Bleak didn't appear too interested. He dragged on his cigarette again with slightly narrowed eyes. "I'm not a logger," he said quietly.

"No," Plunder agreed. "You're not."

"So what does a guy who owns a logging company want with me?"

Plunder didn't appreciate this game, but he let it slide. He knew Bleak had a vague idea of why he was there. Constant questioning and intimidation techniques wouldn't fly once he became Plunder's employee, but Plunder figured he simply didn't want to get himself involved in something that wasn't completely clear.

Plunder completely understood.

He leaned forward, intent on putting Bleak's suspicions to rest. "I'm after someone who can watch my back for me while I have it turned," he said. "I'm more interested in watching my profits than I am in watching idiot green-minded eco-freaks creeping up on me."

"You want a bodyguard," Bleak finished for him.

Plunder deliberately paused and then smiled. "Not exactly. Technically, I suppose. Though watching my back isn't all you'd be doing. You'd have a hands-on role within the company."

"Doing all your dirty work," Bleak smirked. He didn't sound very tempted.

"Listen," Plunder said impatiently, "You come to work with me tomorrow. You see off any trespassers, you oversee my men and listen in on their thoughts and concerns. You report everything back to me. You keep an eye on my surveillance monitors. You only answer to my authority, do you understand?"

Bleak suddenly looked interested, but he stayed silent. He took a final drag on his cigarette and dropped it into the dregs of Plunder's coffee.

Plunder continued. "You'll be paid in cash," he said, "and accommodation. Wherever I go, you go. Your main priority is to keep your ear to the ground and make sure I'm not in for some nasty surprises. If I need someone shown off my property, you're the person who will escort them away." He raised one eyebrow carefully. "And you will make sure they understand they are not to come back."

Bleak shifted carefully in his seat. His leather jacket creaked. "I'm not interested in goin' to jail," he said after a moment.

Plunder chuckled. "Nor am I. I am extremely careful, Mr. Bleak. I do not make mistakes. I do not move ahead without ensuring I have several exits. I expect you to follow the same philosophy, should you choose to come and work for me."

Bleak passed a hand over his shaved head. "How'd you find me?" he asked after a moment.

"Your military records. Another reason I am so interested in having you work for me. You're trained in unarmed combat, yes?"

Bleak gave a curt nod.

Plunder leaned forward again, keeping his voice soft. "I don't like carrying guns," he said. "They bring too much risk with them. I prefer other methods of assurance and protection. Do you understand?"

Bleak's eyes were dark and steely. "Perfectly, Mr. Plunder."

Plunder smiled. "Excellent." He leaned back in his chair and regarded Bleak carefully. "I'm seeking someone who asks no questions and needs minimal supervision," he said quietly. "I'm seeking someone with no moral complications or hesitations when it comes to dealing with people who cause me headaches. I'm seeking someone who will hold my word as truth. I believe you can fit this role, Mr. Bleak."

Bleak gave another nod.

"Should you get yourself into any trouble with any of this, or should the authorities find you because you have made a careless mistake, do not expect me to help you."

Bleak grunted. "I don't make mistakes."

"Good," Plunder answered quietly. "Then we have a deal?"

Bleak cast his eyes around the restaurant and shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Give me a week's trial. If it don't work out I take my money and we never see each other again. I don't want to commit to something without understanding what it is."

"Fair enough," Plunder replied. He was annoyed, but he understood. He wouldn't commit to something so vague, either. It wasn't _his_ fault the job description was vague. He wasn't entirely sure how to put Bleak's role into words.

But he had a feeling that Bleak was the right man for the job. He was violent and dangerous, but careful and calculating. He was quiet and observant, but gave off a vibe of danger and cruelty. Plunder liked all these combinations immensely.

"We'll start today," Plunder said. "Are you ready?"

Bleak nodded. "Ready, Mr. Plunder."

Plunder stood and tossed a couple of notes onto the table to cover his minuscule bill.

Bleak followed him silently from the restaurant. Plunder gave a short nod as they entered the rain. This felt right. This felt safe, and comfortable.

He chuckled to himself as he and Bleak walked towards Plunder's car.

Protection was necessary, and _this_ sort of protection allowed Plunder a certain freedom and confidence that did not come with guns. Loyalty was the sort of protection that a select few were able to enjoy, and Plunder had finally joined their ranks.

Nothing would stop him now.


	5. Chair

**Title/Prompt:** Chair  
**Rating/Warnings:** M  
**Word count:** 2638  
**Summary:** Wheeler finds himself in trouble after failing to listen to Linka, and she decides to teach him a lesson.

******Notes:** So, _Mercy_ is one of my most popular fics. I've written this in the same style – just with Wheeler and Linka's positions reversed. The stories aren't really related in any way other than having similar subject matter. For Becks7.

* * *

Wheeler had stopped struggling long hours ago. It had done him no good – the ropes hadn't loosened in the least and all he'd managed to do was rub his skin raw. His fingers tingled with uncomfortable numbness and he had taken to flexing them every few minutes.

The room was small and quiet, and as far as he knew, he had been locked in the dark. It barely mattered anyway – black tape covered his eyes, sealing out all light. Another strip over his mouth made an attempt to keep him quiet. He'd used the back of his throat to yell himself hoarse, until he realised the other Planeteers weren't coming.

He hoped they were okay.

_Of course they're okay. Linka bossed them all into following her plan and of course she got lucky and it worked..._

His thoughts trailed off. Luck had nothing to do with it, and he knew it. He'd waved away her concerns of rushing in with no solid plan in mind. He'd bragged about bringing Blight's operation down from the inside before the other Planeteers had even coordinated their plan of attack.

Typically, it had backfired, and now he was stuck, waiting. Thinking about what Linka would say when he had to admit she had been right and he had been wrong; again.

He shifted slightly. Blight would have to come back at some point, though he had no foolish notions of it being anytime soon. He was probably over-estimating how long he'd been sitting there, anyway.

Being so helpless and useless infuriated him. He wondered if the others had managed to make progress against Blight, or if they had fallen victim to similar situations, despite their careful planning.

He was glowering against the black tape across his eyes, thinking this over, when he heard the lock on the door slide open. He wriggled against the rope keeping him bound tightly to the chair, alert and aware of the door slowly opening and then closing again.

He listened carefully. He had heard no footsteps, but there was soft breathing beside him, and he could sense the warmth and heat of someone very close, looking at him; inspecting him. He could feel sweat on his skin and he shifted nervously, the chair creaking under his weight and the rope pulling at the skin around his wrists. He could hear his own breath escaping from his flared nostrils, and the air around him seemed hot and thick and smoky, like it could do damage to him if he breathed too much of it in.

Cool fingertips brushed against his forehead and he jumped. The chair creaked again and he heard his breath hitch loudly. He cursed himself for being so openly nervous in front of Blight.

Though he knew, deep down, that it wasn't Blight.

The smell in the air around him was light and sweet and he knew it like a part of himself. Something floral and cool like roses in winter – something contradictory and beautiful, like the woman who wore it against the pulse on her throat.

Linka.

"Stuck, Yankee?" she whispered.

He nodded, feeling rather sheepish, though his heart was thudding loudly.

He felt her fingertips move upwards over his skin until her fingers slid slowly into his hair, pushing it back. He let his head move back with the gentle force of her hand, exposing his throat to her. He wished he could see, but at the same time he was glad he couldn't, because everything about this was too intimate to be witnessed. She was touching him because he couldn't see her do it, and the thought excited him and rose within him like heat and air; like Wheeler and Linka, like it always, always did.

"Has it given you time to cool off?" she asked, sounding slightly amused. "Did I not tell you that running in with no plan would land you in hot water?"

He drew in a shaky breath as he felt the lightest touch against his throat, against his Adam's apple, and he didn't know if it happened to be her lips or the fingertips of her other hand. His muscles were tensed against the rope binding him to the chair and for a moment he thought he'd be able to burst from them due to sheer will alone.

She kept her fingers twined in his hair and trailed her other hand along his jaw. He forced himself to keep still, though the feather-touch tickled him and he wanted her to do something harder, firmer, rough and forceful.

"Maybe I should leave you here," she murmured. "Leave you here to think about how right I was, hm? And how wrong you were..."

He could hear the smile in her voice as the backs of her fingers slid down against his pulse, cold against his hot skin. He could feel the helpless, rapid flutter of his heart beating against his throat, and it only grew more so as she stepped quietly behind him and moved her hands over his shoulders.

"I thought you knew, by now, not to rush in?" she breathed.

He nodded dumbly, the roar of his own blood rushing in his ears. Her breath against his skin was conjuring up all sorts of images and by the time he told himself to focus once more on how uncomfortable he was, it was too late. He'd seen, in his mind's eye, her naked body curled around him as she breathed and gasped pleasure into his ear.

_Focus, damn it,_ he thought desperately. _Think about how the psycho doctor will pin you down and dissect you like a giant worm if you don't stop thinking about Linka being all naked..._

She was still behind him. He could practically _feel_ the smug look on her face as she stood behind him, her fingers tracing across his aching shoulders.

For a moment he thought she was going to untie him, but then the lightest of kisses brushed against the back of his neck, and he knew she wasn't ready to face him being free yet. There was a careful, wafer-thin shield held against everything, so long as he remained in the chair, unable to see her or speak to her or move his hands over her.

If he didn't see it, it didn't really happen.

His fingers twitched desperately. _She's gonna kiss my neck and breathe all over me like this and I can't do anything about it? _He thought about screaming to Ma-Ti for help. Surely this sort of torture was inhumane and against Planeteer protocol.

She wound her arms around him from behind and sighed, her face buried in his neck. "How many times do you have to find yourself in a situation like this before you start to listen to me, Yankee?" she mumbled against his skin.

_I'll never not listen to you again,_ his mind babbled. _Untie me and I'll do whatever the hell you want, so long as this isn't forgotten. So long as you keep doing that little kissy breathy sucky thing with your mouth..._

The press of her lips against the side of his neck caused his breath to catch again. He tilted his head sideways. His breathing was ragged and the sweat on his skin now had nothing to do with the efforts of getting out of the chair.

"You will listen to me next time, hm?" she asked softly, her lips brushing his ear.

He nodded vigorously.

"You know if you keep running in like this without thinking, you will get us all into trouble," she continued, moving her hand slowly from his shoulder and down his chest, her flat palm bumping slowly over each coil of rope holding tight against him.

He could hear his own breath, ragged and deep. He was too confused and too desperate to be embarrassed. The chair creaked under him again as he strained against the ropes holding him tightly. Linka ran her hand through his hair again and he let out a soft huff of air, pleadingly.

_Untie me._

"You know how I found you, _svetlyachok_?"

He could feel her smiling now. _Oh, Linka, I dunno what's gotten into you, but I love it and I hate it at the same time. Let me go so I can watch it and touch it; whatever the hell this thing is._

"I was _careful,_" she said, her voice stern and mocking at the same time. "Planning, Yankee. It is always important. None of this..." She took a breath and blew it against his skin again. "None of this impulse."

He tipped his head back and felt it nudge against her shoulder as she remained bent over him, her hands sliding over the ropes surrounding his chest and holding him to the chair.

He could feel himself getting hard, and he didn't care.

Her mouth pressed against his pulse again, and he swallowed carefully, feeling the movement of his own body press gently against hers.

Then she was gone – she stepped back and left him alone and isolated. He let a low grumble of frustration and desperation burn in the back of his throat and he gave a small struggle, mainly for show.

_Time to untie me, now. I'll listen to your little lecture later. There's obviously somethin' else we need to discuss first, because if you think we're walkin' out of this room without – _

Her fingers caught on the tape across his mouth and ripped it quickly away.

He gasped. "Ow, fuck!"

She gave a soft laugh and he felt her lips press against his tingling skin where the tape had been just seconds earlier. "Sorry," she whispered. She kissed either side of his mouth. "Better?"

"No," he muttered, leaning forward. He managed to find her mouth, but she pulled out of his reach before he could do anything but offer a chaste kiss against her lips.

"Linka..." His mouth was dry. He swallowed and tried to start again, but all of a sudden she was close again. Close, close, close.

The chair creaked and groaned as it dealt with the new weight of Linka's body on Wheeler's lap.

"Why do you never listen to me when I ask you not to rush in?" she asked, her voice close to his ear.

He swallowed and opened his mouth to answer, but she pressed on.

"And _why_ do I worry and fret and panic whenever you go missing?" Her voice was soft and husky and he felt her fingers in his hair again, tipping his head back. She kissed his exposed throat. "Sometimes I think you do it just to worry me. Just so you can prove that you really mean something to me."

"Linka, you're driving me crazy here," he panted. "If you untie me I swear I'll listen to you next time, and the time after that, and the time after that." His chest rose and fell rapidly, straining against the ropes.

She sighed and guided his head forwards again, resting her forehead against his. "I cannot understand the feelings I have for you, sometimes," she whispered. "We are not a good match, Wheeler, but sometimes I can feel you so deeply it hurts me to breathe. Sometimes I think my heart would break without you." She pressed her lips softly against his. "Sometimes I curse you and I wish something terrible would happen to you. And then something like this happens. Someone gets their hands on you and you go missing and I worry so much..." She kissed him again, her fingers twined into his hair, and he opened his mouth slightly to touch his tongue against hers.

His heart was racing and sweat gleamed on his skin. He could feel it burning in the welts on his wrists and he could feel it damp under his arms. Sweat, heat, want. His hands itched to touch her.

"Please, please, please untie me," he whispered. His own voice sounded husky and weak to his ears. He could feel her thighs sliding against his waist and he knew there was no hiding the very significant effect she was having upon him.

"What will you do if I untie you?" she asked softly, pressing her lips against his jaw and the corners of his mouth.

"My hands," he breathed, leaning forward and trailing his mouth along the soft skin of her cheek and down her neck. "Let my hands go so I can use them..."

She gave a throaty chuckle and the noise ran right through his blood and added to the heat that was pressing up inside his jeans. As if knowing what had happened, Linka shrugged her hips closer to his, and the chair creaked and his breath hitched in his throat. He buried his face against her shoulder.

"For God's sake," he gasped, "this is cruel."

"So is getting yourself into trouble and worrying me," she murmured. She sucked lightly on his lower lip.

"Sorry," he panted.

She ran her hands through his hair and cupped his jaw. "Do you worry about me, when I get into trouble?"

"It makes me feel sick," he admitted.

She pressed against him and kissed him deeply, holding him to her firmly. She rolled her hips slightly and he groaned and pulled away from her quickly.

"You gotta stop that," he breathed. "I can't..."

She laughed and kissed him softly. "I think you have learned your lesson, Yankee. Rushing in does not seem like such a good idea now, does it?"

"Depends on the context," he breathed, leaning forward again and crashing his mouth against hers roughly. "This is a good rush."

She stroked her thumbs over his cheeks before she leaned away again. "Do you think you can get yourself under control?"

He gave a rueful grin. "There are certain ways to deal with it..."

"Hmph." She picked slowly at the tape still across his eyes and eased it away. He blinked rapidly and looked up at her, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he looked up at her. She was just inches away.

"Hi," he breathed.

She smiled down at him in amusement. "Hello."

He could still feel sweat on his skin, and his heart throbbed, dangerously rapid and heavy. "Is this gonna be a regular thing, if I wander off on my own and do something reckless?"

She gave him a crooked smile. "You want it to be regular? I got the impression you were rather desperate for me to stop." She squirmed closer, rocking her hips against him.

He gave a choke and buried his face in her neck, biting down hard on his lip and squeezing his eyes closed, fighting to keep his body under control. "You're evil," he breathed. "I suspected it, but it's been proven. Pure evil."

"I have not untied you, yet," Linka answered, winding her arms around his shoulders. "You should be nice to me."

"Untie me and I'll treat you _real_ nice," he said, grinning against her neck.

"_Bozhe moy,_" she muttered.

He nuzzled the side of her neck. "Come on, Linka. Untie me..."

She stroked her hand through his hair carefully before she leaned forward, her body pressing tightly against his as she reached around him to pick at the knots holding him to the chair.

"No more running off and worrying me, Yankee," she warned, tugging the ropes loose.

He immediately wrapped his arms around her and twined his fingers into her hair, holding her to him for a firm kiss. "No more of that," he promised huskily, standing and kicking the chair away. It clattered to the floor.

Wheeler backed Linka against the wall and pressed his body against hers, one hand trapped in her hair and the other sliding against her waist. "Lots more of this."


	6. Celebrate

**Title/Prompt:** Celebrate  
**Rating/Warnings:** R - explicit sex.  
**Word count:** 3928  
**Summary:** After a rare and important win, Plunder makes a move to claim his prize.

******Notes:** Considering this is Plunder/Blight and a huge amount of smut, this is actually pretty fluffy in parts?

* * *

The top floor of the hotel was dedicated to a series of restaurants, bars and rooftop gardens. The people massing through the various rooms were all dressed in finery that oozed evidence of money.

Looten Plunder was no exception to this rule. He stood, in a dark suit and crisp shirt, by the glass barrier that ran along the edge of the roof, leaning against it casually with his back to the city and watching the people with him on the rooftop. There was a drink in his hand; an Old Fashioned, and the ice was slowly melting in the warm night air.

Hotel staff in white jackets wove their way easily through the guests, trays of drinks in their hands as they took and delivered orders. Plunder watched them, and he watched the people they were serving.

Snobs of the highest calibre.

Plunder sipped his drink and let his eyes roam the crowd. It was a shifting sea of backless dresses, diamonds and dark suits. The lighting was dim and the air was warm, the entire rooftop open to the city. The view behind him was spectacular, but Plunder found the people far more fascinating.

He watched them all – talking, laughing, drinking. Dozens of little meetings and celebrations and stories all swirling in the air around him.

He glanced at his watch and sipped at his drink again, searching the crowd by the door for a particular face.

When she arrived, he stood up straight, and a slight wave of dizziness came over him. He blamed it on the drink – though later, when he looked back on that moment, he would wonder if that was the real reason for his palpitations.

She was, as he had predicted she would be, dressed in pink. The dress fell to the floor, but it hugged her body smoothly, the silken drapes clinging to her hips and her breasts, proudly showing the hourglass silhouette of her figure. She stepped forward, scanning the crowd, and he watched the way her thighs moved beneath her dress. He had no doubt her thighs could kill a man, and the thought sent hot blood racing to every last inch of his body.

He cleared his throat softly, drawing in a deep breath to calm himself, and held his drink up. She noticed him and walked towards him, winding her way through the other glittering dresses and dark suits.

"You got my message, then?"

"Obviously." Blight ran her eyes over him. "I didn't know you were in town."

"I wasn't, until a few hours ago." He felt a smirk creep across his face and he didn't bother hiding it. "I've been busy."

A waiter passed with an empty tray. "Another drink, Mr. Plunder?"

"Another of these," Plunder answered, draining the rest of his drink in one swallow. "And a Manhattan for my little friend, here."

"How many of those have you had, Plunder?" Blight asked, tugging at the fingers of her left glove and sliding it off her arm. The right one soon followed, and she crumpled them carelessly into her clutch.

"Not as many as you're accusing me of," he answered. She'd leaned her arm on the nearby barrier and he was captivated by the smooth skin of her forearm and the slender curve of her wrist. He didn't see her bare skin very often.

"Look at these idiots," Blight was saying in disgust, gazing around the rooftop. "These are the sort of people I think about when I'm testing explosives. Pathetic ants."

He watched her in amusement. "Why do they bother you? I can think of a few other people I'd rather have come to harm, first."

She snorted. "Yeah. Teenagers."

He chuckled and leaned his arm against the barrier, close to hers. He let his index finger straighten out and stroke against the smooth, thin skin on the underside of her wrist.

She looked at him in surprise. "Are you drunk?"

"Yes," he answered, letting his thumb graze the pad of her hand. "I'm celebrating."

"I gathered," Blight answered, her eyes sweeping the crowded rooftop. "These aren't all friends of yours, are they? I still stand by my earlier statement of wanting to blow them all up."

"I don't know them," he murmured, his eyes drawn to the draping neckline of her dress.

She noticed, and she turned away a little, resting her back against the edge of the barrier so he was gazing at her profile. Her hair hid the side of her face, but he wasn't daring enough, drunk enough or stupid enough to reach over and tuck it back behind her ear.

"What are you celebrating?" she asked after a moment.

He let his fingers glide over the skin of her wrist slowly, his hand making its way slowly up her arm. "The Planeteers failed today," he said after a moment. He felt pride and smug happiness welling up inside him again and he chuckled. "They tried to stop me and they couldn't. I won."

She turned back to him and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I _won,_" he murmured, leaning closer. His hand slid up to her elbow and his thumb stroked the outside of her upper arm. "They had to leave. They had to concede that what I was doing wasn't illegal."

A smile crept across her face. "Oh, I wish I could have seen that," she breathed.

He chuckled and leaned closer, feeling daring and happy and rather tipsy. "I'll tell you all about it in greater detail later."

Their drinks arrived, and Blight took hers into her hand without taking her eyes off Plunder. "Why not now?" she asked.

Plunder tucked a folded bill into the pocket of the waiter. "I don't want her to see the bottom of her glass," he said, nodding his head towards Blight.

"Of course not, sir."

Blight sipped her Manhattan and leaned against the barrier again. The breeze stirred her hair. "So you're celebrating a win over the Planeteers. Can't say I blame you. The opportunity's never come up before." She tilted her head at him. "And yet you don't want to talk about it?"

"I do," he answered, his fingers cruising over her arm again. "We've got all night."

She gazed back at him coolly and sipped her drink again. "Assuming I stay."

He smirked. "You have somewhere you need to be? Somewhere better?"

"Haven't decided yet." She sucked the maraschino cherry into her mouth and pressed her teeth into it. "Convince me."

He grinned and ran his hand along her arm again, stepping closer to her. "You'll stay," he said confidently.

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head again. "Because you're a winner? Because you have money? I have money too, Looten. It'll take more than drinks and a nice hotel to convince me to stay. I need a story." She smirked at him and fluttered her lashes. "Go."

He sighed and looked down at her with slight irritation. "There's really not much to say," he said. "They came in and tried to stop me logging a forest, but everything I was doing was perfectly legal. They tried hard and they failed. The little one cried."

Blight laughed. "Maybe we should start obeying the law a little more often, if this is what it can result in."

Plunder raised his eyebrow and shrugged, taking a heavy gulp from his glass. "It's often more profitable to ignore the law."

"Unless you have to bribe your way out," Blight answered, tipping her own glass up and draining it. "Get me another drink. I need to catch up to you."

The waiter was already on his way over. He took Blight's empty glass and quickly promised her a refreshment was on the way. Plunder waved him away, his glass still half full.

"So it was no grand plan, then?" Blight asked, turning back to Plunder. "Just the law?"

He scowled. "I still won."

"You did," she said comfortingly, patting his arm. "I didn't mean to make it sound like a non-achievement."

He sighed, no longer feeling annoyed. He sipped his drink and ran his eyes over the crowd. "Where'd you get your dress?"

"Do you like it?" She tilted her hips slightly, watching him with a smirk. "I don't think I've ever been so dressed up in front of you." She stepped away from him slightly and dug around in her clutch. "Why'd you invite me, anyway?"

He watched her light a Black & Mild and blow a stream of blue smoke into the air.

"Miss, this is a no-smoking zone," the waiter said, holding her drink out.

Blight took it and gazed at him coolly, taking another drag. The waiter ducked his head, looking flushed, before he hurried away again.

Plunder ran his hand up her arm again, right up to her shoulder, and hooked his finger under the strap of her dress. "It's a nice dress," he murmured.

She blew sweet-smelling smoke into his face. "The wrapping is only as nice as the gift," she answered. "This dress wouldn't look half as good on you."

"We'll take your word for it," he answered, draining his glass. Ice clinked back against the bottom as he set it down.

"Why'd you invite me here, Looten?" Blight asked again, eyeing him over the top of her new Manhattan. "You have enough money to get any woman you want." She nodded towards the crowd. "There are obviously a few who are trying to get your attention."

"You'd appreciate the reason behind the celebration," he answered, tracing his fingers over her shoulder. "I don't have to be someone else, with you here."

"Because I know all your dirty little secrets?" she asked in amusement.

"Something like that," he answered. "We have similar interests."

"I suppose," she conceded, leaning against the glass barrier and gazing out over the city. "Though there must be a few others who share your interests, as well."

He ran his eyes over the curve of her back and her hips as she leaned forward against the railing, her arms resting against the top. Her dress hugged every curve and he found himself looking for evidence that she was wearing something underneath.

"I wanted you," he said after a moment.

She stood straight again, beside him. "How am I supposed to interpret that?"

"Any way you want," he answered. He traced the tip of his finger up her spine, revelling in the smooth warmth of her skin.

"You're making it pretty obvious," she said in amusement. "Let me finish my drink."

"Then what?" he asked.

She drained her glass and let the cherry roll into her mouth. "Isn't it your night?" she asked lightly. "How would you like to celebrate?" She flicked her half-burned cigarillo over the edge of the building.

He flattened his palm and roamed it down until it rested just below the small of her back. "I thought it was obvious."

Blight swallowed the cherry and drew in a quivery breath. "I wasn't sure if you were being serious or not."

"Because I joke around so often?" he asked quietly, raising his eyebrow and pulling her forwards. Her hips nudged against him.

"No," she answered softly. Her right eye was hidden behind her hair, but the left one was wide and blue. "You're always so full of shit, though."

He chuckled and kissed her, prodding her mouth open with his tongue. Her mouth tasted of smoke and bourbon. He felt her shiver, and when she broke the kiss he was filled with a smug sort of satisfaction, rather than any sort of disappointment, considering she had pulled away.

She glanced over his shoulder at the other people milling about under the city lights.

"Come to my room," he said pinning her gently between the railing and his body.

She swallowed, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"I'm the biggest winner you know," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "I can give you everything."

"Everything?" she asked, tilting her head away from his mouth. He followed, letting his breath hit her with every syllable.

"Money," he said. "Intelligence. Adventure." He ran his palm across her hip, closing his eyes as the silk warmed under his touch.

"Am I just one more frontier to conquer?" she asked. "I'm not interested in being just another achievement, Looten."

"It's not that," he murmured, rubbing his thumb against the thin fabric of her dress.

"I can have money, intelligence and adventure without you," she said. "I need you for nothing."

"That's what makes it so good," he breathed, seeking her mouth again.

"You're drunk," she murmured.

"I'm celebrating," he reminded her. He kissed her again, and this time she leaned into him rather than pulling away.

When the kiss broke, she slid past him, looking back over her shoulder to make sure he was following. They wove separately through the crowd to the elevator. A group of people was headed to the lobby, but Plunder hit the button for two floors down. He watched Blight out of the corner of his eye as she took a compact from her clutch and slicked another coat of lipstick on.

He wondered if her first coat was smudged around his mouth.

They stepped out of the elevator together and listened to it rumble downwards, carrying the cheerful crowd away from them. Blight looked at him expectantly.

"This way," he said, leading her along the corridor.

She followed him, and he listened to the swish and shift of the dress around her thighs as she walked.

He keyed his door open and stood back, motioning for her to go before him. She stepped past him and stood in the middle of his room, tossing her clutch onto one of the armchairs.

"Do you want another drink?" he asked. "Something to eat?"

"No." She kicked her shoes off and turned to face him. "What do you want?"

He stepped towards her and slid his arms around her waist. "I wish you had been there," he whispered, pressing his mouth against her shoulder. "I wish you had been there to see their faces."

She chuckled and stepped backwards, pulling him with her. "Me too," she breathed. "Were they angry?"

"Yes." He fell with her onto the sofa, grabbing the hem of her dress in his hands and pulling it up to her thighs so she could move her legs around him.

"They cried?"

"And yelled. And complained about how unfair it was."

She laughed and tilted her head back so he could move his mouth across the pale skin of her throat.

"I can do anything," he boasted quietly, flicking his tongue over her skin.

She sighed, half pleasure, half impatience. "Arrogance will end up costing you everything," she murmured.

"You seem to like it," he said, moving one hand beneath the hem of her dress and skating it slowly along her thigh.

"You were right, before," she answered, squirming against him. "I don't know anybody else like you."

He kissed her again, tasting her earlier Manhattan. "How drunk are you?" he asked quietly.

"Half as drunk as you," she answered, tugging at his jacket. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

"No," he answered. "I don't want to hurry. Celebrations should never be hurried."

She gave a throaty chuckle that made his stomach flip.

He used his hand to brush her hair away from her face before he pressed his mouth gently against her scarred cheek. She turned her head immediately, hiding it from him.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because."

He turned her head slowly, taking her chin in his hand and encouraging her to rest her head back against the sofa cushions. He traced his fingers over the dark scar on her cheek, feeling the rough skin carefully.

"How did it happen?" he asked. He ran the backs of his fingers over it, tracing it slowly.

She shifted beneath him. "I made a mistake. It cost me half my face."

"You hide it, but you don't get rid of it."

She wriggled beneath him. "Stop it, Looten. Stop looking at it."

"I like it," he answered, brushing his lips against the scarred skin. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her. She stared back at him. It was rare for him to see Blight the woman instead of Blight the scientist, but she was more present tonight than she had ever been. He liked it. There was something vulnerable and insecure about her. It was normal, and he liked knowing that despite all of her wild plans, raving tirades and daring experiments, she could be pinned beneath him like this with self-consciousness and doubt written all over her face. It touched him to see her worried – more so when he realised she was worried about his perception of her.

"I'm glad you came," he murmured, pressing another kiss against her mouth and rocking his hips against her slowly. He felt her relax beneath him again.

"Me too," she answered softly. She tugged at his jacket and he shrugged out of it and tossed it to the floor.

He kissed her again, tasting her mouth, and his hands slid right up to the thin undergarment hugging her hips. After a moment, he managed to rip it.

"Shit, Looten," Blight said, sounding annoyed. "I don't exactly have a change of clothes in that clutch purse, you know."

He grinned against her neck and let the ruined material fall to the floor. "I'll go out in the morning and buy you something nice."

"Who says I'll be here in the morning?" she asked, shifting her hips under him. Her dress slid further up her body.

"I told you," he murmured, "Celebrations aren't supposed to be hurried." He bit gently down on her shoulder, nudging the strap of her dress away. His hand ran along the inside of her thigh and listened to her breathing change as he moved his fingers against her.

"This seems an odd way to celebrate," she whispered breathlessly, letting her head loll to the side.

"This is all I want," he answered. He closed his eyes when one of her legs roped its way around his waist, pulling him closer. Her body was warm and soft beneath him and he could feel every twitch of every muscle as his fingers curled and twisted against her.

"Why now?" she asked. Her body twitched again and he felt her fingers clench into the back of his shirt.

He grinned and dragged the other strap of her dress down with his teeth. "You always knew it was on the cards. It was going to happen, eventually. You and I."

"It was?" she asked scornfully. She twitched again and her visible eye flew open. He repeated the movement and her mouth dropped open, her heavy gasp loud in the quiet room.

"It was," he murmured. "I don't know anyone else like you."

She was breathing heavily and her hips were moving slowly against him. She looked up at him and then smirked, gripping his shirt in her hands and ripping it open. Buttons flew in every direction.

"Payback," she muttered, pulling him closer, "for my underwear."

"Worth it," he answered smugly, shifting to throw the ruined shirt to the floor.

She kissed him then, more aggressively than she had before, her fingers gripping his hair and holding him to her. He could feel the firm pressure of her thighs against his waist and he felt a thrill rush through him as she squeezed him gently. He rocked his hips against hers and she broke the kiss and grinned knowingly. She rolled him over and he toppled off the sofa, landing hard on the floor with a cough.

She crawled on top of him, hitching her dress up again. Her hair was mussed around her face. She bent to kiss him again, hungrily this time. He wasn't sure what had given her confidence, but he liked it.

"Touch me again," she demanded.

He grinned and gripped her hips in his hands, pulling her down against him. "Take your dress off."

She reached to the zip along the side of her dress and impatiently slid it downwards before she lifted the silky material up over her head, throwing it aside.

He ran his hands over her skin. It was warm and pale and smooth. He had half-expected more scars, for some reason, and he wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed when she proved her body flawless. He ran his fingers over the narrow curve of her waist.

She grabbed his hand and directed it to where she wanted him to touch her, tilting her head back and grinding her body down against his.

He stopped only to kick out of his trousers. He attempted to roll Blight over, but she stopped him, pressing her hands onto his shoulders.

"Not this time," she breathed.

"It's my celebration," he answered in amusement. "Shouldn't I get to do what I want?"

She dug her fingers into his skin and he yelped. She smirked and shifted her body above him, lowering herself onto him slowly, her mouth open and her face flushed lightly pink.

The momentary pain caused by her fingernails was long-forgotten as he felt the wet warmth of her envelope him. He gave a shuddering sigh and let his body sink back onto the carpet. She moved against him slowly, keeping him pinned with her hands on his shoulders. He gripped her hips and matched her rhythm, which to him seemed achingly slow. When he moved a hand up to cup her breast, she rocked her hips a little faster, and he soon discovered that using his own blunt fingernails on her skin could prompt her into a frenzy.

He listened to her ragged breath as he ran his hand roughly over her back, his nails leaving red tracks on her pale flesh.

"Harder," she demanded breathlessly.

He thrust his hips up against her and ran his nails down her thighs, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, enjoying the way she bit back high-pitched whimpers. She kept her eyes closed and let her hair fall forward over her face, until he reached up and gripped the blonde locks in his hands, pulling them away from the scar on her face. He held her hair tightly in his fingers, restricting her movement and exposing what she longed to keep hidden. He thought she was angry about it, the way her body shifted faster against him, but it was a reaction he enjoyed. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and kept one hand twined tightly into her hair, the other racing thin red trails over her stomach and her breasts.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck."

He felt her tighten around him before he was ready, and her body shuddered and crumpled on top of him. He rolled her over immediately, pressing her into the carpet and burying his face in her neck, thrusting slowly until he felt the finish wash over him, hot and fast. He bit her shoulder and tried to catch his breath, sweat prickling on his skin. The rhythm of her breathing was mismatched with his own and he closed his eyes and felt her moving beneath him, trying to catch her breath.

"I like your celebrations," she breathed, her voice hot against his skin. "I wish you won more often."

He smirked and looked down at her, feeling tired and breathless. "Maybe I will, now I know what the prize is."


	7. Sink

**Title/Prompt:** Sink  
**Rating/Warnings:** M - mild violence.  
**Word count:** 1858  
**Summary:** The possibility of losing Gi prompts Kwame to think about the connection between them.

******Notes:** A little Gi and Kwame fluff - after a bit of tension/violence at the beginning...

* * *

Gi appeared to be the bravest of them all – which was ironic, considering the position she was in. She glared furiously at Greedly as he snorted and laughed, confident in the advantage he now held over the Planeteers.

Kwame tightened his fists and spoke, his voice sounding too loud and too slow. "Let her go."

"Are you sure you want me to do that?" Greedly grinned and shook Gi a little. Fear showed on her face for a brief moment as she looked down over the edge of the bridge to the water below. The chain around her ankle rattled.

"I need four more rings to make a set complete," Greedly said, his voice rumbling and deep. He held his hand out and Gi's ring glittered in his palm. "Hand 'em over, Planeteers, or else..." He trailed off and dug his meaty fingers into Gi's shoulder again, giving her another shake. She staggered with the force of it and Linka gave a small cry, believing she'd soon be witness to her friend toppling towards the water, the weight of limestone chained to her leg dooming her straight to the ocean floor.

The Wind Planeteer immediately slipped her ring off her finger and held it out towards Greedly. "Here," she said. Her voice sounded weak and quivery.

Kwame nodded and slipped his ring off too. His mouth was dry. He kept his eyes on Gi and his heart lifted slightly as she gave him a small smile.

Greedly's laughter roared from him, and his belly shook as he collected both Linka's ring and Kwame's, keeping a firm grip on Gi's shoulder and a heavy boot against the block of limestone at the edge of the bridge.

Ma-Ti hurriedly handed his ring over, feeling ill. He tried to give Gi a brave smile, but it was too difficult. He knew that one shove from Greedly's boot would send the stone over the edge, and Gi down with it.

Wheeler glared as he held his ring out. "Get away from her."

"Hand it over, punk," Greedly snarled. "I'm in charge."

"Get _away_ from her," Wheeler snapped back.

Greedly sneered and beckoned for the Fire Planeteer's ring.

Wheeler glared at him and dropped the ring into his outstretched palm.

"Now get back, all of you!" Greedly shouted, shaking Gi again. "Get back!"

"We gave you what you wanted!" Linka cried. She looked pale, and tears ran down her face. "Unchain her."

Greedly sneered and gave the limestone block a shove with his boot.

"Gi!" Kwame felt his stomach drop as everything unfolded in front of him in slow motion. The stone scraped over the edge, the chain went tight, and Gi screamed in pain and fright as the weight of it all pulled her down. Kwame could still hear the rattle of the chain and what he thought was the sound of Gi's leg breaking as the weight wrenched it outwards.

He heard Linka scream, and Wheeler grabbed her, keeping her upright and stopping her from following Gi in a vain attempt to rescue her from the depths of the lapping water below.

But nobody grabbed Kwame, and before he could even think about it, he'd taken three flying footsteps before he'd launched himself over the edge of the bridge. Below, the water was dark, but he could see the white froth of Gi's entry. He plunged into it headfirst and kicked downwards, the water icy and suffocating around him. It gripped him around the chest and reminded him that he had such precious little oxygen and time. It reminded him that his efforts would be in vain.

He kicked down again, feeling the weight of his clothes and the horrible lead of his muscles. His eyes searched the dark water and for a moment he thought he saw her, pale and frightened and being dragged down, down, down to the bottom, where she would no doubt drift and drown, the limestone anchor holding her firmly to the sandy floor.

* * *

Kwame sat up with a gasp, sweat drenching his body and his bed. His chest rose and fell in panic and he kicked the sheets back and staggered to his bedroom door, throwing it open and racing into the night with barely a thought in his mind. He ran along the shadow-striped path, his feet pounding the bare earth.

He threw his shoulder against Gi's door, too impatient to work the handle. It flew open and slammed heavily against the wall. He saw her shadowy figure bolt upright, her dark hair tousled about her face.

"What?" she asked, sounding panicked. "What's wrong?"

He crossed the room and touched her – one hand on her shoulder, the other cupping the side of her face and gently tilting her head back so he could run his eyes over her and note her bright eyes and softly-parted mouth. Alive.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, too relieved to feel stupid. "It was just a dream," he breathed tiredly.

"You had a nightmare?" She was still frozen into the position he'd arranged her into, and her heart was racing from being woken so suddenly.

Kwame rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face, slumped in relief. "It was horrible," he said after a moment. He seemed to wake up, then, and he looked over at her, giving her a small, embarrassed smile. "Sorry I woke you," he whispered.

She laughed and shook her head, kicking her sheets away to sit closer to him. "It's okay. Are you all right?"

He nodded and stared down at the floor, the icy weight of the nightmare still clinging to his skin.

"What was the dream about?" She tilted her head and looked at him curiously, watching the smooth expanse of his back rise and fall as he breathed.

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face again, keeping the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. "You died. You drowned."

Gi looped her arm through his and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "It wasn't real," she reminded him. "I'm fine."

"Greedly had you tied to an anchor," he continued. "You sank down and I..." He drew a shaky breath and then gave a soft laugh. "It was just a dream."

Gi felt her stomach quiver. She wriggled closer to him and hugged his arm, tilting her head up to him. "Want to talk about it?"

He breathed out, slowly, and shook his head, giving her a small, embarrassed smile. "Sorry I woke you," he said again. "I panicked."

She laughed and rested her head back against his arm. "It's okay."

They sat there in silence for a while, listening to the waves foaming and smashing on the shore. They sounded violent and heavy, but it was a familiar sound and they both listened and grew drowsy again.

"I should go back to bed," Kwame said, shifting his eyes to Gi's bedroom door, which was still open. It hung a little crookedly on its hinges.

"I'm not tired anymore," Gi protested in an obvious lie, slumped against him and comfortable.

He chuckled and shook his head. "I feel like never sleeping again."

Gi gave a small smile. "It was just a dream, Kwame. I'm fine."

"I know." He pulled away from her slightly to look down at her, and his thumb came up to brush against her cheek, which was still slightly-flushed with sleep and the warm air of the night. "You sank down so far," he whispered. "I went after you but I could not reach you. I knew you were at the bottom..."

She shuddered despite herself, and hugged his arm again, pressing her cheek firmly against the smooth bicep of his upper arm.

He watched her, his stomach still roiling and his chest still tight. Somehow he felt as though he were still kicking his way down through icy depths, unable to breathe or see anything but her face. In his dream, his final glimpse of her had shown her terrified and ghostly. Now she looked sleepy and comfortable, her short dark hair lightly-tousled and gleaming in the gentle moonlight that spilled through the open doorway.

The thought of losing _any_ of his Planeteers caused an uncomfortable pain to tighten around his heart. The thought of losing _her_ sent him cold and sent fear creeping through his bones. Even the mere possibility of loss caused his throat to constrict.

She was a constant, a light, a sigh of air. Something he took for granted. She was bound to him in a way he had never thought about – she just was. That was enough.

She looked up at him again and saw him watching her. She gave him a sleepy smile. "Okay?"

He nodded and reached up again, tracing his thumb over the smooth curve of her cheek, his fingers sliding into her glossy hair to tuck it back behind her ear. His heart had stilled its terrified hammering and was slow and calm again. She was alive and safe. His relief was unrivalled and he found himself frowning as he tried to decipher the sudden complicated thoughts tumbling through his brain.

"It was just a dream," she whispered, her eyes deep and dark. She was watching him carefully, her eyes slightly-veiled, as though he hadn't completely torn her from sleep and she was still watching him from behind the curtain of shallow dreams.

He nodded and bent forward to press a soft kiss against her forehead. Her hand spread over his shoulder slowly and she tilted her head up to look at him again, a small smile on her face. He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth, touching the edge of her smile with his lips.

She smiled again and leaned into him, pressing a soft, full kiss against him, her fingers sliding over the warm skin at the back of his neck.

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, breathing with her and listening to the ocean outside, pulling and roaring at the shore. "I should let you sleep," he murmured. He shifted slightly, edging away from her with the intent of leaving so she could fall back into bed and return to slumber. The tie that bound her to him was still bold and alive, and now that he had drawn it tight again, he realised how late it was and how violently and unfairly he had pulled her from sleep.

"No, stay," Gi whispered, tugging at his hand and urging him back to her mattress. She smiled shyly at him and wriggled over to make room for him. "It'll keep the nightmares away."

He smiled at her and stretched out beside her, clasping her small hand in his and listening to her breathing. She rested her head against his shoulder and he felt himself relaxing as the soft warmth of her body pressed against him. He carefully wrapped one arm around her, intent on protecting her from his own nightmares, and allowed himself to relax against her.

They both sank contentedly into her mattress; into sleep.


	8. Fever

**Title/Prompt:** Fever  
**Rating/Warnings:** G  
**Word count:** 1505  
**Summary:** Linka gets grumpy when she's ill.

******Notes:** For Helen - wrote this after you reviewed the last W/L chapter; thank you! :) I've tried to keep it fairly canonical.

* * *

Linka did her best to ignore the soft tapping at her door. She was hovering on the edge of sleep and was doing her best to fall.

"You asleep?"

"Of course not," she answered grumpily, opening one eye to see Wheeler's anxious face peering down at her. "How could anyone sleep with you stopping by every five minutes?"

"It's been an hour," he said, sounding a little hurt. "I brought you some juice." He set a glass of juice down on her bedside table.

She looked at it for a moment and felt her anger gradually fade. "Thank you," she said, rolling over onto her back. Her sheets twisted around her legs, but she was too exhausted to fix them or kick them away. She could still feel the uncomfortable stickiness of fever and sweat on her skin.

"You look awful," Wheeler commented helpfully, sinking down onto the edge of her bed. "Feeling any better?"

She shot him a look that prompted him to give her a meek smile and a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Need anything?" he asked.

She glanced at the juice and shook her head. "_Nyet,_ I am just tired."

"Okay." He fidgeted for moment. She watched him twist his Planeteer ring around his finger.

"You look pale," she said suddenly, noting his waxy complexion and the shadows under his eyes. "I told you to stay away – now you will get sick as well." She frowned, feeling annoyed with him. She'd done her best to repel his constant hovering, but he'd ignored her complaints – as always – and now he'd be struck down with the same horrific fever she'd been battling.

He just gave her the crooked little grin that always managed to infuriate her and send her weak at the same time. He shrugged again. "I don't care."

"Well you should," she snapped, wincing as her voice broke and a ribbon of fire trailed down her throat. "We cannot afford so much time off if we all get sick."

He laughed. "Jeez, relax, Linka. Everyone gets sick occasionally. You so much as sneeze and you turn into a grouch." He grinned at her again.

"Well you turn into a baby when _you_ are ill," she argued feebly, rolling onto her side again. "Go away. I was almost asleep before you came in. Now it will take me forever."

"Sure you don't need anything else?"

She sighed and looked up at him tiredly. "I am sure. I just need to sleep."

"Okay." He reached over tentatively and stroked a sweat-dampened curl away from her temple. He let the backs of his fingers brush her cheek. "Your fever isn't as bad," he commented softly.

"I mean it, Yankee, let me get some sleep!" she barked, glaring at him and forcing away the gentle shivers his touch had sent down her spine.

He rolled his eyes and grinned again. "Fine. I'll come back later."

"Of course you will," she grumbled, nestling into her pillow. "You are at my door every five minutes." She closed her eyes and heard her door gently snick shut. She fell deeper into her pillow, relaxing her muscles now that he had gone.

She cracked one eye open just to make sure he really had disappeared. She was suddenly sorry she had been so insistent that he leave her alone. He had spent much of the night hovering nearby as she had thrashed and mumbled her way through the height of her fever. She wasn't sure if the memory of him holding compresses on her forehead was a dream or not.

"Wheeler," she called pitifully, "Come back."

Her door opened almost immediately and she realised he'd been standing just outside. She started to glare at him again before she remembered her guilt. She gave him a small smile instead.

"I did not mean to be so angry with you," she said.

"You never _really_ mean it," he answered smugly, giving her a wide grin. He sank back onto the edge of her bed. "Drink your juice."

"It will hurt," she answered pathetically, listening to the way her voice scraped and whispered over the rough fire in her throat.

"Don't be a baby." He held the glass of juice towards her and she propped herself up onto her elbows to drink it, wincing as it slid down her burning throat.

She set the glass down again and looked up at him, feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable. "Were you with me last night?" she asked, praying he wouldn't turn her innocent phrasing into something with innuendo and double-entendre.

"When you were sweating and moaning? Yes." He grinned cheekily and she punched him on the arm as hard as she could. He laughed and shook his head. "Lie down." He pushed her back gently, his hand on her shoulder. He felt cool and firm and she realised her temperature was still uncomfortably high.

She flopped back into her pillows, defeated and tired. "I hate being sick," she mumbled.

"We all hate you being sick too," Wheeler answered. "You're even touchier than usual."

"I am not," she answered angrily.

He grinned, as though she had just proved him correct. "Get some sleep."

"I have been trying," she answered in frustration. She kicked her sheets down and felt the effort spin dizzy waves through her. "I am hot."

Wheeler rested a cool hand across her forehead. "Not as bad as you were," he answered. "Not that great, though. I'll get you some aspirin."

She waited impatiently for his return, not sure if she wanted him by her side for comfort or because it made her feel better to snap at him and let some of her frustrations out. Sometimes she knew her comments hurt him, but he seemed extra forgiving if she was sick, and she tended to take advantage of it. At the same time, she was not immune to her guilt from being so short with him when all he was trying to do was help. He was obviously tired and worried about her – and she was giving him little thanks for taking such care of her.

She obediently swallowed the aspirin her handed to her and stretched back onto her mattress, which felt hot and damp from the long hours her body had been tossing about on it. She wished she could sleep.

Wheeler was fidgeting again.

She gave a tired sigh and turned to him. "Wheeler?"

"Hm?" He looked back at her.

"I have not been very nice to you," she admitted.

"I won't take it personally," he answered airily. "Just hurry up and get better."

"Even when I am better I am not very nice to you."

He paused for a moment. "Yes you are," he answered. "We argue, but that doesn't mean you're not nice to me." He gave her another bright smile of confidence.

She smiled back at him tiredly. "I suppose."

He reached over and brushed her hair back again, and this time her only response was to close her eyes and sigh with comfort.

"I don't like you being sick," he murmured after a moment. His thumb cruised softly along one of her eyebrows.

"I know," she mumbled, finally feeling close to sleep again. "I am grumpy."

"You are grumpy," he agreed quietly, "But that's not what I meant. It's not right, watching you act tired and unwell. I don't like it."

She reached blindly for his hand, her arm falling against his knee. He took her fingers and laced them firmly through his own.

"You were with me last night," she murmured, still not remembering anything clearly, but knowing with absolutely certainty that he _had_ been there beside her.

"Yeah," he answered. "You owe me."

"I owe you for a lot of things," she said after a moment, guilt in her voice. "You take care of me a lot."

"You're hardly ever sick," he answered, sounding confused. His hand slid down and pressed against her warm cheek as though he were checking for evidence of a rising fever.

"Not just sickness," she answered, keeping her eyes closed. It was easier that way. "You cheer me up. You try to please me and make me happy. I do not often do the same."

"You wear those cute little shorts," he answered. "That's thanks enough."

"_Bozhe moy_," she breathed, feeling herself edge closer to sleep. "You are an idiot."

He chuckled and combed his fingers through her hair. "Be nice," he reminded her.

She nodded and squeezed his hand. "Stay with me until I am asleep?" she asked softly. She was almost there. She didn't want him to move and wake her up again.

_Excuses, excuses._

"I'll stay," he answered. There was a smug tone in his voice that led her to believe he knew more about what she was thinking than she did.

She nestled into her pillow, one hand still enfolded in his, his fingers still trailing softly over her brow and through her hair.

Sometimes it wasn't so bad, being sick.


	9. Stuck

**Prompt and Title:** _Stuck_

**Summary:** _Linka attempts to drag herself out of the clutches of addiction.  
_

**Rating:** T

**Notes:** _Contains themes of drug use, which may be upsetting. Also contains some mild language. _

_Given that mudget and I are completing the same prompt table, we sat about last night and focused on the same prompt, not showing each other what we had until we had finished. It was a lot of fun! Don't forget to go and see her interpretation of 'Stuck'. _

_For mudget. :)  
_

xXx

She's stuck. Everything is stuck. The floor is thick glue and she tries to crawl above it, _through it_, to get to the glittering pills far on the other side of the room. They sit and twinkle, taunting her as she struggles and gasps on the floor, trying to inch her body towards them.

_Come and get us, Linka. We'll make you feel good._

She sobs in desperation, pulling her body along the floor, which heaves and buckles beneath her. The glue holds her fast, trapping her arms and legs, squelching up against her t-shirt and her skin and her hair. Her clothing is stuck to her body, her hair is clinging to her face. Her shoes are gone. Her ring is gone. The pills are out of reach.

She screams in frustration and desperation, arching her back and thrusting her arms forward towards the glittering treasures that seem miles away.

She opens her eyes and glimpses Wheeler leaning over her. His voice echoes in a nonsensical reverberation of concern. She can't understand anything but the tone of worry, and for the briefest of seconds she realises it's not glue holding her down, but the thin runnings of sweat and nightmares.

"Help me," she gasps at him. "It hurts."

He frowns, and she knows he can't understand her babbled Russian. She tries again, but the dark sweeps in and she's in the glue again, trapped and helpless as the pills glitter brightly in front of her eyes. She reaches for them desperately, craving the sweet taste of their flight and effect; craving an escape from gravity and pain.

She can hear Skumm chuckling nearby, and she turns her head sluggishly to see him sitting upright on the floor, dropping Bliss pills down his throat one by one, his mutated face a giddy image of pleasure.

She slumps in exhaustion, watching him sit on the same floor that holds her stuck and helpless. Pills roll by easily and she reaches for them, but is too slow. She wails and watches them roll towards Skumm.

"I want one," she begs. "Please give me one. Just one."

He drops another pill easily down his throat, as though it is candy. It _is_ candy. Sweet, dizzying candy that will melt on her tongue and ease all the ache and pain holding her down.

"Half," she wails, her voice high and thin with pleading. "Just half a pill. Please..." She inches towards him across the floor, which is turning to sand now, rough and hot and slippery. She sifts through it desperately, searching for lost pills.

Buried treasure.

She can feel their loss starting to rip and shred at her insides. Holes are starting to gape and burn inside her – little Bliss-shaped holes that need to be filled before she caves away into a bleached skeleton in the sand. She screams in fear and pain and reaches desperately for Skumm.

"Please!" she begs him. "I am dying without them!"

He erupts in a clatter of little green and yellow pills, all of them bouncing and jittering away over the floor. She scrambles to snatch them into her hands, but as she touches them they turn to powder and vanish. She starts to sob, scrambling around on her hands and knees, chasing the scattering mountain as the pills roll away.

The glue reaches up and snatches her back to the floor, holding her fast. She squirms desperately, trying to kick herself free from its heavy, cold hold.

She wakes again to see Wheeler over her, his hands on her shoulders. There is a bright red scratch across his cheek. He pins her firmly, talking to her in that same nonsense echo. Her mind can't grip the individual words, but she knows it's _him_ holding her stuck, and not the glue or the sweat or the nightmares. Just him.

"_Svóloch_!" she screeches at him. _Bastard._

She reaches out to claw at his face, knowing she must have done so before, but he catches her hand and forces it back down to the stretcher.

He gives her a shaky smile and the echo sounds pleading this time. Pleading and scared.

She closes her eyes and lets the glue drag her back down into the dark. The pills glow, but they are fewer. She is losing them. She sobs and scrabbles for them, but she is stuck again, trapped helplessly in a thick pool that grips her loosely and firmly at the same time. She watches the pills sink away around her, and each glowing light slowly dies.

She screams desperately, kicking and fighting to get to the last one, knowing that if she doesn't reach it she'll be stuck in this hell.

Her eyes flash open again. _"Gospodi pomiluj_," she gasps. _God have mercy._

Wheeler is bent close to her. His hands have left her shoulders and have cupped her face, which runs hot with sweat and tears. His thumbs stroke the delicate skin below her eyes, tracing the shadows and the lines that have etched themselves there. She can feel them like bruises and blisters; like permanent scars. Like the little gaping holes in her body that are screaming for the right fittings of glowing pills; they are marks of pain.

"Help me," she sobs desperately, looking up at him. She kicks feebly, but the glue keeps her down even as she fights to stay awake.

He murmurs something softly, but it's all nonsense to her – or maybe she just doesn't want to listen. He bends close and rests his forehead against hers. Her legs twitch and shake, trying to escape and remind her tired, frightened mind that there are loose pills scattered somewhere and she needs to find them.

She sinks against the stretcher, fluid and heavy, her eyes closed and Wheeler's hands on her face.

"_Ya hochoo oomyeryet'_." _I want to die._

His thumbs trail down her skin and she can feel the fire of him and the treacherous touch of his _health_ and _goodness_ burning on her. She cries and twists slowly and he whispers and tries to soothe her.

The nightmare of glue and darkness and glowing pills has gone, but the hell of consciousness is starting to plague her now. There are lights and memories flittering through her mind.

"Boris," she moans. She sobs and feels her heart break again and again, splintering more and more into sharper and sharper pieces as she remembers. Without the pills she will always remember him. She will always remember what she did. She needs the drugs to forget it all.

She shakes her head slowly, her eyes pressed closed against the light and the real world. There is too much pain, and Wheeler is forcing her towards it. It's cruel and sadistic. Her heart breaks again as she realises how deeply he must hate her if he's forcing her to abandon the sweet flight of Bliss and instead grip dark reality.

The echoes split and separate. She listens to him desperately, seeking clues that will lead her back to happiness. He calls her names he has never called her before. He prays, and pleads, and murmurs love softly.

She spins dizzily, still lost, knowing nothing so simple and soft could be her rescue from _this._ It will take something of steel and iron and divinity to pull her back from this knife-edge between two hells.

Drugged bliss and oblivion and sickness, compared to health and clarity and memories of horror. Either way, she loses.

"_Ya hochoo oomyeryet',_" she whispers again. She looks up at Wheeler and lets hot tears run from her eyes.

"You with me now, babe?" he asks, tracing gentle fingertips down her face. He's close, both for comfort and to keep her trapped back against the stretcher.

She nods slowly, her eyes wide. If she moves her gaze from his face she will fall again, back to the glue and the dark, helplessly stuck with pills crumbling in front of her.

He smiles, looking relieved. "Good."

Simple clarity. One word. _Good._

So very Wheeler.

She wraps thin, trembling fingers around his wrist, holding his hand against her face. She tries to seek the words she wants to say in return, but there are hundreds of them, and all of them are upsetting. Prayer and death and sorrow and fear – things that add up to screams and tears.

He takes care to keep his left hand still – the one she grips so feebly and holds against her cheek. He lets his other hand wander slowly over her brow and the top of her head, smoothing her lank hair away from her face.

He seems in no hurry to talk, but she fights anyway, dragging words to the surface and forcing them out. They taste bitter and they feel big and uncomfortable.

"I am sorry," she whispers.

A small, sad smile creases the corner of his mouth. "I know. It's okay. I'm sorry too."

She frowns and her head aches as she tries to decipher his apology. He shakes his head and traces a trembling thumb across the lines of confusion on her face.

"We don't have to talk now," he says. "Do you need anything?"

She feels nothing but weight pulling her down. She is neither hungry nor thirsty. She is just heavy and sad. Her fingers tighten further around his wrist and she looks up at him pleadingly.

"Do not leave me," she says, forcing the words out of her dry mouth. "If you leave me I will sink. If you leave me, I will find Bliss..." Her voice cracks as she utters her knowledge of such weakness to him.

"I'm goin' nowhere," he answers bravely. It is false bravado, but despite the tone his words are full of truth, and she knows it. They glow warm in her chest and she feels each muscle uncoil.

"I am balanced between two hells," she croaks, trying to explain. "You could fall in with me." She feels obligated to warn him of the danger.

"I fell in with you a while back," he says. His breath whispers on her cheek. "No more nightmares now, okay? Just sleep. Don't worry. We're lookin' after you."

They are alone, but she senses vague silhouettes elsewhere, and the glow in her chest warms again as the chain designed to pull her back to the surface comprises itself of not one but four links. Wheeler, Kwame, Gi and Ma-Ti. The chain is made of steel and iron and divinity and it will pull her out.

She sighs and closes her eyes, shifting her cheek against the warm palm of Wheeler's hand. "I am not alone?" she asks, seeking final confirmation before she gives in to the dark again. "You will not leave?"

"Nope," Wheeler answers softly, his brow pressed gently against hers. "You're stuck with me."

xXx


	10. Restaurant

**Prompt/Title:** Restaurant

**Summary:** Gi has left the Planeteers behind, but soon discovers that fighting for the environment alone is a much scarier, darker venture than she originally imagined.

**Rating:** M for language and violence

**Notes:** Of all the one-shots I've written so far, this is the one that could probably be developed into a massive multi-chapter. It just kept going and going. Do let me know if you get to the end of it – especially if you think it could work as something bigger. It started out as a really small idea and just blew up.

xXx

The restaurant sat right on the beach, the waves lapping up against the pylons below the expansive decking. Gi leaned against the railing, looking down at the reflection of the moon and waiting patiently for her contact to arrive.

Behind her, the decking was quiet. Couples were scattered here and there, and there was a larger group closer to the walls of the building, laughing and clinking their glasses together as they sat in the pool of light spilling from the wide windows of the inside dining area.

She toyed with the half-empty glass in her hands, wishing she was there for pleasure. She looked down at her dress and blew out a soft, mournful sigh as she realised she'd probably only have a chance to wear it for another hour or so before she had to leave for less-glamorous surroundings.

The restaurant was at the high-end of town and boasted a waiting list of six months. Looking around at the half-deserted deck, Gi wasn't sure if that were true or not. Regardless, its popularity mattered very little. What _did_ matter were the rumours of money laundering for a company like Sternkill Industries.

Gi had harboured a deep resentment for Sternkill, even before her life as a Planeteer. It had been that company which had forced her and her parents to move from the coast. It had been that company which had built the smelter too close to the beach, poisoning the water and killing off the sea creatures Gi had been friends with as a girl.

She had never run into them again, though they were never far from her mind. She had often expressed a desire to get even, but everything they did – though appallingly bad for the environment – had been nice and legal. There had been nothing she could do.

She looked down at her bare fingers, wishing she had the other Planeteers with her now. It still seemed odd, having a life without them. The dangers she had faced at the time seemed less traumatic when looked at in hindsight. She often wondered if she had made a mistake, finally caving to the pressure and handing her ring back to Gaia. She often cursed herself for focusing more on the near-misses and the danger rather than all the good she had done and all the fun she had experienced.

It didn't matter now. What was done was done. There was another Water Planeteer with them now – a girl from Japan – and Gi was hardly going to force her home and admit to everyone she'd made a mistake and would like her ring back.

She did miss them, though; especially at times like this – waiting for a chance to strike a blow for the environment. If she could attach any illegal activity to Sternkill Industries, she'd have a shot at closing them down for good – including their numerous smelters and factories.

It was getting late, but the restaurant seemed only to grow more crowded. The larger group of diners was made up of men, celebrating some sort of business deal. She had kept one ear on their conversation in case it offered her any valuable information, but it appeared they were only interested in drinking and having a good time – not talking about work or money.

She checked her watch irritably. Her contact was running late and if she had to stand there alone much longer it'd start looking strange. She took another sip of the drink in her hands and turned to run her eyes over the restaurant, just in case he hadn't spotted her and was standing nearby.

She caught the eyes of one of the men at the table and he adjusted his tie and stood up.

She cringed and took another hasty drink, almost draining her glass completely. She wasn't there to be flirted with or hit on. She was there to gain information that might bring Sternkill down, and she was in no mood for anyone to hinder her progress.

He wove his way between tables and other diners, keeping his eyes locked on her. She tried not to look too exasperated.

"You're too beautiful to be alone," he said, leaning against the railing beside her.

"I'm waiting for someone," she explained.

"You've been waiting a long time." He gave her a smile. "I think you're alone. Why don't you come and sit with us?"

She glanced at the table of men by the wall of the restaurant and barely managed to resist wrinkling her nose. "No, thank you."

"Kyung," he said, holding his hand out and introducing himself.

"Really, I'm just waiting for someone," she said desperately, unsure of how to get rid of him.

"I'm just after a name," he said, smiling at her.

She took his hand and sighed. "Gi."

He smiled at her and kept hold of her gently, motioning back towards his table. "Come and join us, Gi. We have drinks and food to share..."

Gi caught the movement of a figure out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head. Her eyes widened in amazement as she recognised the tall, relaxed posture of Wheeler leaning back against the railing. He was watching her in amusement.

"Is he bothering you?" he asked.

Kyung scowled and switched to English, flawless and impassioned in his anger. "She is busy talking to me, Mr. America."

Gi's heart started hammering as she watched Wheeler take a sip from the drink in his hand.

Kyung tugged at her, urging her to take a step away from the railing. "Let me buy you a drink," he said, still trying to convince her to join his table.

She pulled her hand free. "No, really. I'm fine."

Wheeler grinned at Kyung and shrugged. "Sorry, _chingu_. Looks like you're out of luck."

Kyung scowled and turned to Gi, lowering his voice. "This is the one you were waiting for?" he asked in disbelief.

She shook her head automatically, but suddenly she wasn't so sure.

"Well, let me wait for you until your friend shows up," Kyung said, giving her a smile.

Gi caught another look of amusement on Wheeler's face. Her brain was still sluggish – she wondered what he was doing there and why he didn't come straight to her and hug her hello. She wondered why on Earth he seemed willing to let time go wasted with Kyung hanging around and why he seemed to enjoy her discomfort so much.

Wheeler caught her eye and winked, giving her a small shrug. "He's persistent."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, still in shock after seeing him walk so breezily across the restaurant decking.

"What's your name?" Wheeler asked, grinning at her.

Kyung glared at him, but Wheeler appeared oblivious.

"Gi," she answered, feeling almost shy. She glanced around to see if anyone else was approaching them. Their side of the decking was almost deserted, though the noise and clatter from the restaurant indicated that everything beyond the shadows was still busy and crowded.

"No kidding," Wheeler answered, giving her a wide grin. "I used to have a friend named Gi."

She felt a smile creep across her own face. "Really," she answered.

"Oh yeah." Wheeler gave her another wink and grinned when Kyung bristled with anger. "She was a lot of fun."

Gi laughed and Kyung gave up, snorting and dropping her hand, stalking his way back to his friends, who were still drinking and cheering loudly.

Wheeler crossed to her, but didn't hug her as she'd hoped he would. Instead he leaned his elbows against the railing, cupping his glass in his hands and looking down into the water.

"Hi," she breathed, still wondering what on Earth he was doing there.

"Hey." He smiled, but kept his eyes focused on the water. "You okay?"

"Confused," she admitted, leaning against the railing like he was. "What are you doing here? Are the others here?"

"They've gone ahead," he said softly. "A little bird says you've been digging around in the affairs of Sternkill Industries."

She wrinkled her brow. "Uh-huh. How'd you know that?"

He leaned close, casting a careful eye over the crowd behind them. "You're in big trouble, little mermaid," he whispered. "You've got people watching you and following you... This thing goes deep."

She shivered and looked at him with wide eyes. "But I've barely done anything..."

"Enough to get 'em worried," Wheeler answered, giving her a small smile.

She chewed her lip and frowned. "They_ are_ attached to this restaurant, right? Using it to make all their profits and business seem more legitimate?"

Wheeler nodded and drained his glass. "We should go."

"Where?"

"Somewhere away from here, in case they've heard about your meeting and they want to stop you. Come on. I'm supposed to take you to meet the others." He took her hand and led her across the deck, shooting a triumphant grin at Kyung, who glowered at the both of them. Gi blushed, but was too surprised and anxious about Wheeler's presence to feel too much else.

"Shit." Wheeler stopped in the doorway of the restaurant, his eyes fixed on a group of men by the bar at the opposite end of the room. He changed direction and started leading Gi along the wall. "Recognise those guys?"

"No," she answered nervously. The sudden change from gentle flirting and role-playing to the serious nature of flight and danger had left her reeling. "I'm supposed to meet someone. Has he given me up?"

"Maybe," Wheeler whispered apologetically. "Your informant has probably been lost to bribery and corruption." He kept his eyes trained on the group of men by the bar. "Or worse."

Gi felt sick. "Where are the others?"

Wheeler shot her a grin. "At Sternkill headquarters. I volunteered for the restaurant part. I was hoping to have a nice meal with a girl in a pretty dress, but I think we'd better hurry up and just get the hell out of here."

She gave him a nervous smile and let her eyes sweep the room. She wondered just how blind she had been to the danger she was supposedly in, and how deep everything really did go.

"This restaurant is just one of many owned by Sternkill to give the appearance of legitimate funds." He cleared his throat softly. "What are you like when it comes to running in high heels?"

She bit her lip. "I guess we'll find out, if we have to..."

He kept a firm grip on her hand and started leading her towards the doors again, keeping a careful eye on the group of men by the bar – who all seemed to be staring back at him intently.

Gi swallowed, suddenly realising her secretive investigations hadn't been secret at all. She was obviously being watched, and she cursed herself for being so stupid and not noticing until now. "Who are they?" she asked nervously, using her free hand to hitch the hem of her dress up.

"They like to think of themselves as the executives," Wheeler whispered. "It's their money going through this restaurant and someone's made them wise to the fact you want to stop it."

"Who?" Gi asked, sounding panicked as they hurried past more tables. The exit seemed forever away. "I haven't told anyone!"

"Your name was already flagged," Wheeler explained. "Sternkill took over your parents' lab, remember? Your name is in their system. Even a slight suspicion sets off huge alarm bells."

Gi cursed and sent a worried look to the shifting crowd of men at the bar. They were draining their drinks and patting their pockets, preparing to leave. She suddenly felt very naked without her Planeteer ring, missing it more than she ever had before. She glanced at Wheeler's right hand and was relieved to see his ring still firmly in place on his first finger.

"They're going to follow us," she said worriedly, trotting along behind him and cursing her idiocy. She should have known things couldn't go so easily. She should have at least worn shoes that allowed her to flee in relative speed and comfort.

Just because she was no longer a Planeteer didn't mean she wouldn't face danger now and then. She'd been caught unprepared, feeling safe in the shadow of being an unimportant civilian.

They hurried back out into the warm night air and Wheeler flagged a taxi with a look of relief, just as it pulled up to drop off existing passengers outside the restaurant.

Gi couldn't help but look back over her shoulder as Wheeler pushed her into the backseat. The looks on the faces of the men in the doorway indicated to her that Wheeler had been right - they knew who she was and that she was a threat to them.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the cab pulled away and joined the rest of the traffic in the street, cruising through a green light and leaving the restaurant behind them.

She turned to Wheeler, expecting some sort of explanation, and was met with a crushing hug instead.

"You okay?" he asked. She could feel him grinning against her neck, and for some reason all she wanted to do was cry.

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fighting back tears and the tightness in her throat. "Are you?"

"Never better," he declared breezily, easing back to look at her. He grinned again. "I've missed you."

She laughed, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She rubbed them away with the heels of her hands. "I've missed you, too. All of you."

"The others will join up with us as soon as they're done hacking into Sternkill's system."

"Did I really screw up?" she asked pitifully, looking up at him in the shadowy light of the cab.

"Nah," he answered, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "They had an unfair advantage. They were keeping an eye on you before you made any moves at all. Once you started digging, they figured they should stop you..." He shifted uncomfortably. "Gaia sent us to make sure you were okay."

Gi felt a wave of embarrassment. "God," she muttered. "I guess I lost that subtle, sneaky touch I had as a Planeteer."

"It's harder without Planet Vision," Wheeler said, grinning at her. He looked over his shoulder and out the back window, frowning. "They're still chasing us," he murmured. "You got somewhere we can go?"

She wiped her eyes and shrugged. "Not really. Home?"

He shook his head. "Not safe."

"I don't know, then," she said worriedly.

He shrugged and leaned forward, speaking to the driver in low tones and dropping a handful of crumpled notes into the front seat. Gi listened in amazement. His Korean was basic and anything but fluent, but there was still no hiding he was speaking it.

"Where'd you learn Korean?" she asked, taking his hand again after he leaned back.

He grinned at her. "Ma-Ti thought it'd be a nice surprise. I'm the worst student, though. Wait until you hear the others."

Her heart warmed and she laughed, more tears threatening to spill over. "I can't believe you, sometimes."

"Now that I think about it, though, Kwame is also surprisingly bad at remembering different languages," Wheeler mused. "He makes me feel better when I fuck it up."

She laughed and buried her face against his arm. "Where are we going?"

"To a hotel," he said. "Though I think we'll be followed wherever we go." He glanced out the back window again.

She rubbed her face, worried and embarrassed about the sort of trouble she'd brought down on herself and had now involved her friends in.

Wheeler gave her a reassuring smile and put his arm around her again. "Nice dress," he said.

She laughed and looked down at herself. "I figured I'd better look the part. It's a pretty snobby restaurant."

"Must be all that money filtering through it," Wheeler muttered, squeezing her and sending another glance back through the window behind them.

"I am right, then?" she asked, needing more reassurance.

"Uh-huh." He sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging his tie loose and shoving it into his pocket. "We think Plunder is involved in this somehow – but don't ask me for anything more concrete than that. His name has cropped up a couple of times, but these guys are smart enough to bury the truth under twenty tons of lies. Sorting through it all was going to take us too much time. We came straight to you instead."

"To rescue me from my mess," she groaned. She rubbed her brow, realising a headache was starting to develop. "I can't believe I've been so stupid. There was no informant coming to meet me tonight, was there?"

"There probably was," Wheeler comforted, "until the executives found out about it and put a stop to it."

Gi blanched. "How far would they go to stop someone bringing them down?"

Wheeler shifted again and didn't answer her.

She sighed and draped her legs over his lap, twisting to look out the back window. The car following them was staying close, the headlights glaring against the back of the taxi. She chewed her lip and ducked her head again.

Wheeler looked down at her sympathetically."It's not your fault," he said. "Someone's gotta stop 'em."

She just shook her head and closed her eyes, leaning against his arm again. "How's my replacement working out?" she asked, immediately regretting the question but desperately wanting an answer.

Wheeler grinned and shrugged. "She's okay."

"You like her?"

"Not as much as I like you," he answered truthfully, looking down at her with a smile. "You wouldn't believe how much we miss you."

She sighed and shrugged her body closer to him. "I wish I hadn't left."

"Me too."

"It was that last time..." She swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling sick at the memory of the heat and the fumes and the rough ropes around her hands and ankles. "It gave me nightmares. I don't want a job that gives me nightmares, Wheeler."

"I know, Gi." He squeezed her hand.

"Though, this is hardly better," she grumbled, looking back at the car trailing them.

He chuckled and shook his head.

The taxi coasted to a halt in front of a tall, lit-up hotel. Wheeler thanked the driver and shuffled Gi along the backseat, helping her out and sending a wary look to the car behind them. It sat there, the engine idling quietly.

"What should we do?" Gi asked nervously.

"Let's go inside." He prodded her forwards, keeping a tight grip on her hand.

"Stop."

The voice rang out from behind them, authoritative and confident.

Wheeler winced and gripped Gi's hand in his, so hard she muttered a brief complaint. They both looked back.

The back door of the black car had opened and a short, stocky man wearing a black evening coat stood on the pavement, his hands in his pockets. He gazed steadily at Gi.

"I would like a talk," he said. His English was stilted, but there was no confusing his meaning.

"Come on," Wheeler said nervously, tugging at her hand. "Let's get inside."

She nodded in agreement, but stilled again as a second man staggered his way out of the car. He stood with his hand hidden just inside the folds of his jacket, and there was no mistaking what he was hiding beneath.

"Stop," the first man said again. "Or we shoot."

Gi glanced nervously through the glass doors of the hotel. The late hour meant the lobby was deserted and the desk was unmanned, at least for the moment. She bit her lip and looked up at Wheeler helplessly. She could see him trying to plan various movements in his head – she could see him trying to figure out a way to use his ring to get them out. But they were outnumbered, and the glare of the headlights meant they couldn't see exactly how many foes stood in front of them.

"Are the others okay?" Gi whispered timidly. "If we go with them, will the other Planeteers be able to help us?"

Wheeler gnawed on his lower lip and then nodded, conceding defeat. They approached the car nervously, hand-in-hand, and were ushered into the backseat.

They found themselves cramped between two hulking men either side of them, facing towards another three, including the stocky man who had spoken before. Gi was forced almost into Wheeler's lap, and she clung to him tightly.

"You are showing wrong interest in my restaurant," the stocky man said, gazing at them coolly from where he sat. "You meddle."

"I haven't meddled," Gi replied hotly. "I've done nothing wrong."

The stocky man smirked. "Your parents meddle, too. I have labels on them."

Gi glared at him. "My parents did nothing wrong, either. You came in and revoked their grants just so you could build a smelter! And the coast is _ruined_, because of you."

He chuckled and shrugged. "Money," he explained, "is important to me."

Gi muttered something under her breath.

"Hand over your evidence," the stocky man said. "I let you go."

"I don't have any evidence," Gi snapped.

The man smiled and shrugged. "Then we have problems," he said.

Gi glared at him. "Where's all the money come from?" she asked. "Last time I looked, Sternkill Industries were keeping themselves inside the law. Why do you need a whole setup designed to make your profits seem legitimate? What changed?"

"Plunder got involved," Wheeler muttered. "Loopholes and cutting corners make nice, tidy little profits, but you need a background and an explanation about where all the extra money is coming from. That's what the restaurants are for."

Gi bit her lip and frowned, embarrassed and upset about how much she had missed in her brief investigation.

The stocky man was looking at Wheeler with interest. "I have no name for you," he said. "American."

"Bond," Wheeler answered. "James Bond."

One of the hulking bodyguards beside Wheeler sent an elbow crashing into his ribs, and the Fire Planeteer coughed, his forehead drooping to rest between Gi's shoulders as he fought to regain his breath.

"Look," Gi said nervously, clutching Wheeler's hand as she sat precariously on his knees, "We have no real proof of anything. I swear. Please let us out, and we'll just –"

The man in front of her laughed. "Everyone insists innocence," he said. "Innocence is usually lies."

"No," Gi said desperately, "I'm telling the truth, I swear. I know that the restaurant is set up as a money-laundering operation, but I don't know the ins and outs of it and I certainly don't know about any other companies or industries you own." She swallowed nervously and kept a tight grip on Wheeler's fingers. "We're no real threat to you," she promised.

The man in front of her smirked and settled back in his seat, refusing to take the conversation any further.

Wheeler's arms were tight around Gi's waist, and she could feel the hot tension in his muscles beneath her. She wondered if he had contacted Ma-Ti yet, and then figured it wouldn't hurt for her to try, either.

_Ma-Ti? I'm really sorry..._

She glanced at the man opposite her, wondering just how cruel he really was and whether or not his thoughts would be enough to block Ma-Ti from hearing her or finding her.

"What did you do to my informant?" she asked after a moment, keeping a steady eye on him as he gazed back at her.

He gave her a smile that made her skin crawl, but offered nothing more substantial in the way of an answer. Gi slumped back against Wheeler and tried to see through the car windows in an attempt to figure out where they were going.

The ride seemed long, but Gi couldn't be sure if that were truly the case. She kept quiet, shifting whenever she thought her position was causing Wheeler discomfort. He was quiet too, and it worried her. She hoped he was focusing on contacting the others, and that he would have more luck than her, because Ma-Ti hadn't even sent a hint of an answer towards her.

The car rolled over an old boardwalk, the beams rumbling and shifting loosely beneath the wheels of the car. Gi looked out at the sagging silhouettes of warehouses and storage sheds. Further along the coast, she could see the lights of the city. Somewhere in there shone the lights of the restaurant she had been investigating.

She cursed herself for trying so hard to bring Sternkill down after so many years. The coast had been ruined long ago - nothing would repair it or bring it back to its original state. Her need for some sort of revenge had turned purely selfish, and now she had dragged Wheeler into trouble with her.

She clung to his hand as the car came to a stop, and he squeezed her fingers gently.

The stocky man spoke up again, fixing his eyes on Wheeler, who was glaring at him over Gi's shoulder. "Out of the car," he said softly.

Wheeler's arm tightened around Gi's waist. "I'm comfortable here, thanks."

Gi had already figured these men were not in the mood for negotiation, but she still gave a yelp of fright and pain at the sudden movements that wrenched her out of Wheeler's lap and into the arms of one of the hulking figures beside the stocky man.

She looked back at Wheeler desperately, and the fear and helplessness on his own face told her he knew far more about these men and their operations than she did. She cursed herself again for thinking she could do this herself, without the Planeteers, without her ring, without any outside help at all.

"Leave us to talk."

Wheeler was hauled out of the car, though he gripped at the seats and seatbelts firmly, resisting as much as he could until they pulled him free and slammed the car doors closed again, leaving Gi inside with the stocky man and the bodyguard with the steel grip on her arms. He tossed her easily onto the opposite seat and she fell like a ragdoll, sending a desperate glance towards the windows to see what had happened to Wheeler. She knew if he were given a chance, he'd use his Planeteer ring, but they were outnumbered and he wouldn't want to risk her getting hurt because he'd made a hasty mistake.

"What will they do to him?" she asked, sweeping her hair out of her face and giving the two men opposite her an angry look.

"It depends on how well you cooperate with us." The smaller man had switched to Korean now, and he looked confident and comfortable. "I am Hyo Song, and I am the executive manager of Sternkill Industries." He tilted his head at her, as though waiting for her to continue the introduction.

"You already know who I am." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Let me out." She reached for the door handle and was stopped by an angry kick from Song's bodyguard. She winced and rubbed her knee, peering through the tinted windows in an effort to see Wheeler. The docks were dark, however, and she neither saw nor heard any sign of him.

"What prompted you to look into my restaurants?" Song asked curiously. He leaned forward and Gi found herself shrinking away from him.

"I was researching your company name," she answered truthfully, seeing no point in lying now. "There were so many different businesses and outlets it looked suspicious."

He chuckled and nodded. "Perhaps we have gotten a little too arrogant when it comes to what we hide and what we do not hide. Still - owning restaurants is not illegal."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "But money laundering is. All of your illegal funding from the smelters and factories you own disappears into the system of your restaurants and retail chains and comes out looking like clean profit."

He smirked. "This is just speculation."

"Anyone who looks hard enough will find out," she snapped, curling her legs up and sending a fresh glare to the bulk of muscle beside him, who had been eyeing her body with a wide stare.

"Why would anyone look?" Song asked carelessly. "You had a personal vendetta against my company. Very few others will go to the trouble of probing into my company's records."

"Sometimes it only takes a _very few_ people to change the world," Gi answered sharply. She clenched her fist and once again missed the cool feel of her Planeteer Ring on her finger. "Let me out. I want to see my friend." She sent another worried glance through the car windows. "Don't hurt him."

Song chuckled and gave a small sigh. "I have no intention of giving mercy to those who seek to bring me down," he said. "Your poor little informant learned that the hard way."

Gi felt a chill run through her bones. "What did you do to him?"

He smiled. "I took care of him."

She fought tears. She had no real idea of who she had spoken to, but he had sounded young, and he had desperately wanted to do the right thing by the law and the environment. His death, if it had indeed happened, would be on her shoulders.

She started to cry, despite her best efforts. "Please don't hurt my friend," she wept desperately, looking through the windows for Wheeler. "He came to warn me away – he has no idea about anything else you're involved in. You can let him go and he won't do anything to hurt you or your business..."

Song laughed and shook his head. "Ridding myself of the two of you will tie up the loose ends threatening to unravel my business."

_Oh, Ma-Ti, please find us, please_...

Song checked his watch and sighed, waving lazily at her as he reached for the door. "Watch her," he ordered. He stepped out into the dark and left Gi alone with the bodyguard.

She tensed immediately, watching Song fade away into the night. If she acted too soon, he'd simply come back and stop her. She bit her lip and looked at the bodyguard, tugging the hem of her dress down over her ankles in an effort to keep his eyes off her skin.

The only weapons she had were her fists – which she immediately dismissed as non-effective – and the heels of her stiletto shoes. As soon as Song disappeared, the bodyguard reached for her ankle, intent on dragging her nearer and baring her legs of the silk material of her dress. Gi jammed her foot forward and screamed in terror as the sharp heel of her shoe sank into his thigh.

His scream outdid her own, fading away into a cracked wail as she wrenched backwards and staggered her way out of the car.

The wind whipped her hair around her face and she looked anxiously around the shadowed buildings for any sign of Wheeler. The sound of the bodyguard stumbling out of the car urged her on. She wrenched her shoes off her feet and pounded her bare soles across the splintery boards of the docks, ignoring the pain of the rough wood on her skin.

She let the shadows of a towering warehouse hide her as she wove in and out of teetering stacks of crates and barrels, keeping a sharp ear out for footsteps behind her. The water beneath the boardwalk was black and deep and it sent shivers up her spine as she glimpsed it between the cracks in the planks.

It was the same water she had been gazing at while at the restaurant – but somehow it seemed so much more menacing now, here in the dark with danger pressing in all around her.

She wiped her eyes, barely aware she was crying, and tiptoed forward, seeking Wheeler and the other men between the maze-like structures of buildings and storage crates.

It struck her suddenly that she had left the Planeteers precisely because of situations like the one she now found herself in. Danger and death had haunted her in her final weeks and she had cited that as her reason for wanting out –yet here she was, doing the same work without the safety of her Planeteer friends or powers behind her.

For the first time since handing her ring over, she felt the full force of her regret, and it almost sent her to her knees. She wiped her eyes again and shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand – getting Wheeler to safety.

Somewhere behind her she could sense the bodyguard limping about, cursing and grumbling to himself as he searched the shadows for her. She stayed in front of him, light and nimble, her dress blessedly helping her to blend into the darkness.

When the moon slid out from behind the clouds, she ducked down behind a row of crates and looked out along the shore. The docks ended and the coast curved away with a steep beach of pebbles and sharp stones – and it was there she saw Wheeler and Song, flanked by the other men who had been crammed in the car with them.

She bit her lip and squinted, but it was too dark to see much. Wheeler looked sick, or in pain, dragging his feet and falling about limply as they hauled him along the beach towards the underside of the docks and the deeper water.

"Shit." Gi glanced behind her and caught sight of the limping bodyguard, stalking angrily between the barrels and crates. In a split second she made up her mind and hurriedly dropped off the side of the boardwalk, plunging in a neat pin-drop to the black depths below.

The night air had been warm, but the water was ice-cold and felt like knives against her skin. She broke the surface with a gasp and felt the tide suck at her, threatening to drag her out into the wide water, away from the relative safety of the shore.

She clung to a pylon that was thick with wet slime and sharp-edged, broken seashells of creatures which had long-since been torn free of the wood. She kicked her legs in an effort to stay near the surface and felt her dress clinging to her. After a moment she tugged at the knot around her neck and kicked the material away, trying not to feel too much grief at the thought of her best dress floating away into the murky water.

She clung to the pylon, shivering and kicking her legs in an effort to stay warm and fight the ferocious tide. She blinked salt-clogged lashes and cursed the sudden lack of moonlight. Timing her movements to the pulling motion of the waves, she let go of the pylon and let the water carry her in further under the boardwalk, closer to where the tide washed against the rocky beach, which fell away so steeply she'd have no chance of her feet touching the bottom until she reached the ledge of sand Song was standing on.

She passed from pylon to pylon, keeping her eyes nervously on the group of men on the shore. Wheeler was on his knees, passive and quiet.

Gi let another wave carry her closer. The water was rougher here; the beach close and exposed at low tide, causing shallow sandbanks and driftwood to pile up and catch beneath her. She put her hand out to stop herself against another pylon and found herself gripping wet cloth. She looked up in alarm to find herself face-to-face with the bloated, water-swollen body of the informant she had arranged to meet at the restaurant.

Horrified, she let go, opening her mouth to scream. The tide sucked her under and for a terrifying moment she bumped against the bloated body tied against the pylon, before she untangled herself and kicked away, choking and vomiting into the water, gasping for breath.

She had never seen his face, but she knew now it was him, and she knew now that Song was going to strap Wheeler to a pylon in the same way and let the tide drown him.

She hugged a slime-coated post and squeezed her eyes closed, unable to move any further. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest.

_I'm responsible for that_. She looked back over her shoulder, able to see pale glimpses of the young man's shirt in the dark. He looked no older than she was and she knew that it was her fault Song had tracked him down and left him there to die.

_This thing goes deep._

Wheeler's earlier words echoed around in her head and she hiccupped and looked back towards the beach, her eyes seeking him to make sure he was still okay. She wondered if _he_ had known just how deep everything went or how ruthless and desperate Song was to keep his profits and his spotless record.

Suddenly the idea of investigating anything with or without her Planeteer powers seemed entirely stupid and dangerous. She squeezed her eyes closed again, willing her heart to slow down and her mind to focus on the one important mission in front of her: Getting Wheeler away.

_Why the hell aren't you guys here yet?_

The hysteria in her mind spilled out towards the other Planeteers. She glanced up at the old boards of the jetty above her, wondering if the geo-cruiser was up there somewhere. She prayed it was. Suddenly she didn't think she could do this by herself. Suddenly she wanted to do what she had watched so many other civilians do over the years – just leave everything to the Planeteers.

She kicked and struggled her way over to another pylon, hiding herself behind it. She could see Song shouting angrily, but the crashing waves drowned the sound of his voice out. She could see the bodyguard she had stabbed in the thigh, clutching his leg and gesturing violently. Wheeler's shoulders shook with laughter.

Gi shivered, watching on as Wheeler was dragged towards the nearest pylons to the beach. The tide was still quite low, but Song's men were waist-deep in the water as they knotted the ropes around Wheeler's wrists. She crept closer, paddling to a pylon within earshot. The high-tide mark was several feet over Wheeler's head and Gi could see him looking up at it with slight fear on his face.

His bravado, however, was yet to be stifled.

"This shit happens to James Bond all the time," he declared. "All in a day's work, fellas."

Gi felt some of her hysteria leave her in a breathless, whispery giggle. She pressed her cold cheek against the rough wood of the support beam she was clinging to and watched as Wheeler was roped securely to one identical, several feet away.

"You can't let me die somewhere warm and dry?" Wheeler complained, flinching as another wave swept in over his stomach.

She heard Song's men muttering between themselves in Korean about shutting him up. Wheeler quickly responded with something so crude and uncouth she refused to believe his teachings came solely from Ma-Ti.

She winced as he suffered several hard punches to his stomach and chest, leaving him hanging loose in the ropes holding him up to the pylon. Song's men waded their way back to the shore, looking irritated.

Gi felt her heart rate speeding up again. As soon as they left the beach she'd be able to swim over to Wheeler, untie him, and they could both escape. She waited impatiently, shivering and trembling in the cold water. Once again, she ached for her Planeteer ring.

She felt another wave break against her back, pushing her into the pylon, and watched Wheeler brace himself as it hit him half a second later. Song and his men stood on the beach. She could see the glow of cigarettes in the dark.

Trusting the shadows of the boardwalk to hide her, she kicked closer, holding her breath and disappearing under the black waves for the briefest of seconds until she emerged just a few feet away from Wheeler. The water was high up against his chest now, and rising steadily. He looked pale and frightened. He was trying to twist his wrist around to aim his ring at the ropes holding him tight, but he didn't appear to be having much luck.

Gi let the tide carry her straight to him. She crashed her palm gently over his mouth to cut his startled scream. His eyes bulged and she felt him huff a sigh of relief.

"You took your time," he breathed, tugging at the ropes holding him fast. He grinned at her, but she felt too sick to smile back. She looked up at the ropes knotted around his wrists.

"How am I going to get them undone?" she asked helplessly. She clenched her fists into his shirt to stop the tide pulling her away and tried not to think about the body being torn back and forth against the pole further out.

"Take my ring," he whispered, trying to crane his neck around. "Are they gone?"

"No," she whispered. "But I don't think they can see us. It's too dark." She reached up carefully and slid his Planeteer ring from his finger. She clenched it in her fist, not trusting herself to do much else. She was trembling so violently she could barely keep her grip on him.

Another wave washed over them, forcing them under. Long seconds passed before it dragged out again, and they both gasped for air.

"Quick," Wheeler breathed. "Burn through it and get me the hell out of here."

She slipped his ring onto her trembling finger. It was miles too big. She held it up and nervously sent a strip of hot light towards the ropes. They hissed and smoked as she cut through them and she knew the beam had lit up their faces. Their escape had probably been noticed.

Wheeler dropped his arms with relief, grabbing hold of her. "Let's get out of here." He looked at her in surprise. "Are you naked?" His hand ran up her bare back and caught the strap of her bra.

"No," she answered through chattering teeth. She held his ring towards him, clinging to him as he slipped it back onto his finger. The water sucked them away from the pylon; away from the beach. She heard Song give a shout as he realised Wheeler had been pulled free.

Not taking any second chances, Wheeler sent balls of fire crashing through the poles beneath the boardwalk, letting them explode and sink with clouds of smoke that further shielded them from the men on the beach. Planks clattered down into the waves, adding to the confusion.

Gi was tiring. Fighting the constantly-moving water and current was causing her muscles to cramp and ache. She clung to Wheeler, desperately trying to keep her head above water. She was a stronger swimmer than anyone she knew, but she was quite literally out of her depth in these waters.

Wheeler grabbed hold of a pylon at the end of the jetty, one arm tight around her waist. His eyes were on the sky, and suddenly Gi heard Ma-Ti's voice.

_Stay there, we're coming_.

"We can't just leave," she gasped, hooking her fingers into his sodden shirt. "They'll get away. And there's – there's a body..." Her voice cracked.

Wheeler looked at her carefully and licked the salt from his lips. "The police will be on their way, Gi. We won't let 'em get away. But we have to get out of here." He shivered, and even in the dark she could see that his lips were blue.

She leaned her head miserably against his shoulder. "This is my fault," she whispered.

Wheeler hefted her lightly in the water. "Nah," he answered. "Nobody knew it'd be this dangerous. You did great." He grinned and pressed a cold kiss against her bare shoulder. "I wish I could have seen you stab that guy with your shoe."

She gave a bitter laugh and closed her eyes. "I was scared they were hurting you."

"Just roughed me up a bit," he answered, peering up at the sky again.

The water out at the end of the jetty was calmer on top, but the undertow was still strong, so when Wheeler saw the geo-cruiser, he simply let go of the pylon and let the tide drag them both out into the open water.

Kwame dropped a rope ladder right into his hand.

"Up you go," Wheeler said cheerfully, helping Gi up. She glanced towards the shore and saw the strobe of police lights. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the sick feeling refused to flee from her stomach. She concentrated instead on clambering up the rope ladder, vaguely aware that Wheeler was probably getting an eyeful of her skimpy underwear as she climbed above him.

The look on Linka's face was a confusing mix of joy and worry. "_Bozhe moy_, you are like ice!" she cried, pulling Gi into the geo-cruiser. "Are you hurt?"

Gi shook her head, shivering and giving Ma-Ti a weak smile as he swathed her in blankets. Linka hugged her tightly before she sent a worried look towards Wheeler.

"Are you all right?"

"Uh-huh." He stripped out of his sodden shirt and took the blanket Ma-Ti handed to him. He gave Linka a grin. "Worried about me?"

She frowned at him. "You said you had the _easy_ part."

He chuckled and shrugged, wrapping the blanket tightly around his shoulders and winking at Gi. "We took an unscheduled detour."

Gi gave him a weak smile in return and let her head loll against Linka's shoulder.

Wheeler shivered again and started to kick his trousers out from beneath the blanket. "If you catch a glimpse," he said to Linka, "remember the water was _really_ cold."

She muttered something in Russian and turned back to Gi again. "Are you sure you are all right?" she asked worriedly, fussing with Gi's wet hair. "We were so worried when we could not find either of you. Ma-Ti knew something bad had happened, but we had no idea what it was..."

Gi swiped a tear away. "We have to go to the police," she said, trembling with cold and fear. "There's a body tied to one of the pylons down there and it's all my fault."

Ma-Ti was at her side immediately, smiling at her kindly. "It's not your fault at all," he murmured, brushing her cold cheek with his fingertips. "Those who _were_ responsible are being arrested." He nodded towards the flashing lights that were fading away on the coast. "We'll take you in to give an official statement tomorrow. Right now it won't hurt to get some rest."

"But someone needs to find him and untie him," Gi wept.

"They know he's there," Ma-Ti promised softly. "They'll take him down."

She caved then, sobbing into Linka's shoulder as the events of the past few hours finally caught up to her and dragged her under. When she finally looked up, responding to their concern, she saw all four of them bent over her – Kwame, Ma-Ti, Wheeler and Linka – and her heart ached to be back with them, to be one of five instead of just one.

Jo, her replacement, was silent at the front of the geo-cruiser, steering them through the night air, and Gi could almost feel her worry and nervousness. Ma-Ti glanced between them and smiled, touching the top of Gi's head lightly before he went to sit beside the new Water Planeteer, offering her almost as much reassurance.

Wheeler leaned his head tiredly against the back of one of the seats. "So you guys obviously found enough to turn the police onto 'em, huh?"

"_Da_, we did," Linka sighed gratefully. "Though it was not easy. There are so many false records and doctored statements... The restaurant you and Gi were at earlier seems to hold the best proof against them."

"Good," Gi answered weakly. She frowned, feeling sick and dizzy. "They can't get away with this. Any of it. The coast, the money laundering..." She closed her eyes, close to vomiting. "The poor boy in the water..."

Linka stroked her hair soothingly. "Sleep, Gi. Do not worry about it now."

"Plenty of time for that tomorrow," Wheeler agreed, giving her a tired grin.

She didn't sleep, but she allowed Linka to gently transfer her weight to Kwame's shoulder. He put a secure arm around her and she watched as Linka moved over to Wheeler, fussing around him as he grinned and made remarks about how bare he was beneath the blanket. She told him to shut up before she went up the front to sit with Ma-Ti and Jo, looking tired and worn. Gi suspected she was going to huddle into a seat out of sight and have a soft cry.

Gi tilted her head up at Kwame. "Hi," she whispered.

His thumb stroked over the blanket against her arm. "Are you all right?"

She wasn't, but she nodded, and he seemed to know what she meant.

She shifted uncomfortably as she realised Jo was steering them towards Hope Island. Suddenly she felt like an intruder; like she didn't belong. She wondered if she should ask them to drop her home before it got too late to turn back.

She distracted herself from any hard decisions or worries by watching Wheeler fall asleep opposite her. The hum of the geo-cruiser was constant and comforting, and now that she was warm and safe it was easy to simply do as the others had suggested and push her troubles out of her mind. She let the weight of sleep grow heavier and heavier.

She was dozing when the geo-cruiser touched down on the landing pad on Hope Island. Kwame helped her to her feet and she caught Jo's eye as they all disembarked. She could feel the awkward energy between them and it added to the knot in her stomach. They had met before, but never in such sudden or tense circumstances. Gi knew it wasn't fair to harbour any resentment towards the new Water Planeteer, but it was difficult.

Regret was bitter in her mouth.

"I'm sorry for dragging you guys into this," Gi said, hugging the blanket around her despite the warm, early-morning air on Hope Island. "I should have just called you and asked you to take a look."

"Once a Planeteer, always a Planeteer," Ma-Ti answered cheerfully, handing Linka her overnight bag as he unloaded the geo-cruiser.

"I didn't think I wanted to be a Planeteer anymore," Gi mumbled. "The whole point of leaving here was to avoid situations like the one I was in last night."

She dug her toes into the sand as she realised how short-sighted she had been.

"I'm wiped," Wheeler said apologetically. "I gotta sleep." He bumped a rough kiss against the crown of Gi's head, inspecting the raw skin around his wrists as he staggered away towards his hut.

"You should get some rest too," Linka said, her arm around Gi's shoulders again. "You can take my bed."

"No, she can have mine," Jo said, speaking up for the first time since leaving the Korean shore behind. She gave Gi a shaky smile and then nodded her head back towards the row of cabins the Planeteers slept in. "Come on."

Gi followed her quietly, feeling more and more out of place and awkward. "You don't have to give me your bed," she said. "It_ is_ yours now, after all."

"I'm not sure," Jo said, giving her a rueful grin. "Most of the time I feel like I'm just keeping things warm for you." She sat in the chair at Gi's old desk as Gi sank onto the bed. Her room had been decorated with posters and photographs when she had been a Planeteer. Her country's flag had hung at the head of her bed.

The walls were rather bare now, though Jo had been there almost a year.

"They all like you," Gi offered lamely.

"I know." Jo gave her a crooked grin. "But it's hard for them. I'm your replacement, and they miss you. I don't think they mean to look at me the way they do, but I'm not sure they can help it, a lot of the time."

"It'll get better," Gi said reassuringly. "I should probably give you guys some space so you can bond..." She trailed off despairingly, knowing she'd never be able to convince Jo that giving the Planeteers space was something she actually wanted to do.

"Weren't you scared, tracking down guys like Song without your Planeteer powers?" Jo asked suddenly.

Gi shrugged. "I honestly didn't think it'd be that dangerous. I guess I tricked myself into believing that nobody would hurt me if I didn't have a Planeteer ring on my finger – like they'd see me as less of a threat." She shook her head tiredly. "I thought it'd be so easy, leaving the danger of this job behind. That was what I wanted. Normality, you know?" She rolled her eyes slightly and gave Jo a small smile. "Guess I've got something in me that can't help seeking danger out."

"Not danger," Jo said comfortingly. "Just what's wrong. It's not a bad thing, trying to put everything right. It's just easier with friends behind you." She looked down at the ring on her finger, and after a moment, tugged it off. She offered it to Gi with a smile. "This is yours."

Gi shook her head tiredly. "Not anymore."

"It is," Jo insisted. "Really. Please take it. Because I've never really considered it mine – and neither have the others. It's always been yours." She placed the ring gently in Gi's palm, and it glowed happily.

"Don't you want to be a Planeteer?" Gi asked desperately. "I can't take that from you, Jo. I walked away from here. Gaia chose you. You deserve to have this."

Jo smiled and shrugged. "I love it," she admitted, "but like I said – I was only ever keeping things warm for you. The others really want you back, and I think the Planeteers will be stronger as a team if you're holding the Water power."

Gi chewed her lip and looked down at the ring in her palm, longing to put it on but unable to justify taking it from Jo.

"Believe me," Jo said, "Ma-Ti has had such trouble keeping in touch with the others since you left. I think you drained him a little and he finds it hard to focus without the link you put in the Planeteer chain. And Linka is nice, but she's never really taken to me the way I see she loves you." She gave a small smile. "You should have seen Wheeler jump at the chance to pick you up from the restaurant."

Gi smiled and blushed.

"And Kwame..." Jo sighed and smiled. "Kwame just doesn't like me. He's been in a bad mood since you left."

Gi wrinkled her brow, finding it hard to believe Kwame could have a bad mood that lasted so long.

Jo got to her feet. "Take the ring back," she said, giving Gi a bright smile. "I'll go and ask Gaia to sort everything out." She stopped in the doorway and looked back. "That is, if you really do want to come back."

Gi looked down at the ring in her palm. She remembered the dangers which had forced her away in the first place, and she remembered the dangers she had faced over the past 24 hours. She remembered the way Wheeler had gripped her hand and the way Linka had thrown her arms around her. She remembered the way Ma-Ti had quietly reassured her in her worry and she remembered the soft trace of Kwame's thumb against her arm as she slept.

"I do," she said, slipping the ring onto her finger. "I do want to come back. I'm sorry, Jo." She looked up at the other girl with eyes that were bright with tears, and received a shrug and a smile in return.

"It's okay," Jo promised. "Really. I liked being a Planeteer, but I don't live it and breathe it like you. I'll let go of the ring and I'll go home and stop the Planeteer missions." She grinned. "I'll leave them to you guys."

Gi gave her a watery smile and Jo left with a small wave.

Gi curled up on her bed, too exhausted and exhilarated to sleep. She felt guilty about taking the ring back, but it meant too much to her for further protests. She ran her thumb over the top of it and closed her eyes with a sigh, feeling whole and safe.

It had been hasty, leaving like that. But her reasons had been good ones. It _was_ dangerous being a Planeteer. Gi just hadn't realised that being a Planeteer was something she'd always be – with or without her ring.

She gave up on sleep quickly, slipping out of her hut and padding barefoot to Wheeler's, finally starting to feel the pain in her feet and her muscles from all of her earlier exertion.

He was still awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at his wrists, which had red, raw circles around them. She could see bruises and marks on his chest – some old, most of them new.

"Hey," she said softly.

He looked up and smiled at her. "You okay?"

She nodded and sank onto the bed beside him. "Too tired to sleep. Does that make sense?"

He chuckled and put an arm around her shoulders. "No."

She laughed and leaned into him, finally lifting her hand to show him the Planeteer ring on her finger.

"I thought she might do that." He sounded relieved, and Gi felt both pleasure and guilt.

"Really?"

"We like her, and we've tried to make her feel welcome..." He trailed off and shrugged, smiling down at her. "She ain't you."

Gi gave a breathless laugh and hugged him tightly. "Next time I get you into a tight spot, I'll get you out again," she promised, motioning towards her Planeteer ring.

He grinned and stretched back onto his bed. "Just make sure you pick a better restaurant for dinner and drinks, okay?"

She laughed and squeezed his hand. "Deal."

xXx


	11. Argue

**Prompt/Title:** Argue

**Word Count:** 2,803

**Summary:** Sometimes Wheeler and Linka are just a little too similar, and it leads to trouble.

**Rating:** G.

**Notes:** Omg, yes, I know! I've been missing in action, and I'm so sorry. I have countless PM's to answer and no real excuse other than being generally busy and my muses not cooperating. While I'm here, I have to say that "The Bells Rang Louder" is on hiatus. I swear I'll finish it one day, but I'm so, so, so stuck on it right now. Anyway, here's a little something to keep you all satisfied. I had several requests for something with Linka "kicking ass", and while I'm not sure this totally qualifies, I have tried to give her the stronger role, here. :) I'm so sorry I've fallen behind on everyone's fics. I have no idea what's going on in this fandom at the moment - I'm so out of touch! I'll try to get better at sticking around.

Thanks to Mudget for beta'ing, and to everyone who sent me messages letting me know I was missed! I really appreciate it. Let me know if you like this, won't you? :)

Lisa x

xXx

"Who says you're smarter than me, anyway?" Wheeler snapped, running over the top of Linka's high-pitched tirade against him.

She broke off her speech against impulsiveness and irresponsibility and glared at him. "I _am_ smarter than you," she said icily.

"Maybe we should research this mission a little," Ma-Ti offered hopefully, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two Planeteers at the front of the geo-cruiser.

Wheeler waved at him to be quiet. "You might read more than I do," he said to Linka, looking angrier and angrier by the minute, "but that doesn't mean you're smarter than me."

Linka rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the side window, deciding to give him the silent treatment.

"Ever heard of this thing called _street smarts_?" Wheeler asked, unable to let it go.

Kwame cleared his throat softly from the seat behind him, indicating that Wheeler should drop the subject.

Wheeler obeyed, but he kept casting sullen, angry looks at Linka for the rest of the journey.

xXx

The sky was steely grey as Linka landed the geo-cruiser. She did so a little heavily, still annoyed with Wheeler; still tense with anger. She pushed past him silently and jumped down onto the soft earth, looking around at the sparse forest.

"Plunder's factory is a mile west from here," Gi said. "We'll walk from here so he doesn't spot us. Keep an eye out, you guys."

She and Kwame led the way, with Ma-Ti hurrying after them.

"You couldn't land us a little closer?" Wheeler asked grumpily.

Linka shot him a look. "I thought perhaps your _street smarts_ would appreciate some navigation through the forest," she said, waving her hand around at the trees. She marched ahead of him, her head held high.

Wheeler gritted his teeth and stormed after her.

xXx

"Linka, if you can get into Plunder's computer system, it will make this a lot easier," Kwame said in a low whisper.

Linka nodded agreement, keeping her eyes focused on the lit window near the top of the towering factory building.

"The rest of us will try to track Plunder down and figure out exactly what this biochemical is," Gi added. "Will you be all right alone, Linka?"

Wheeler shot her a look of mockery and doubt.

Linka glared back at him. "_Da_, I will be fine."

"Don't get caught," Wheeler snapped at her. "We don't want to waste time coming to rescue you."

"You are impossible!" Linka shrieked at him. "Just because I said –"

"_Shh!"_ Kwame hissed. "If the two of you do not stop arguing..." He trailed off and gave them both a severe look of warning.

Linka huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"We'll meet back here in an hour," Gi said, casting a grateful look to Kwame.

The Planeteers split up, stealing away into the shadows of the darkening afternoon. Somewhere over the rolling mountains, thunder began to rumble across the sky.

xXx

Linka managed to get into the factory relatively easily. She avoided the main floor of the building, with its conveyor belts and towering collections of toxic-filled drums, and headed for the narrow staircase that wound its way upwards towards the storage rooms and offices above.

Everything was eerily silent, except for the thunder outside. It was a weekday – she had expected the factory to be crawling with locals working with the chemicals downstairs.

She hurried onwards, still scowling about her argument with Wheeler. As usual, it had started with petty bickering and blown up into something entirely unreasonable. Neither of them wanted to back down; they were both too stubborn.

The undesired similarities between them caused Linka to tense up again. She marched forward, feeling reckless and irritable.

Plunder's office was deserted, but there were papers scattered about and his computer was still on. She scrolled through files with narrowed eyes, tracking his deceptions and forgeries. He had labelled the biochemical as safe by doctoring lab results – probably with the help of Doctor Blight.

Linka hammered away at the keys, sending the doctored results through to the geo-cruiser's system so she could look everything over in detail later. She was beginning to get a headache.

Rain started spattering against the windows. The weather matched Linka's mood perfectly: dark and stormy.

She watched the slow transfer of files irritably, still thinking about the argument with Wheeler and wishing some small misfortune upon him, like it would be just punishment for fighting with her.

She was disturbed out of her thoughts by footsteps on the hard flooring. She had been so lost in her anger she hadn't heard Plunder's approach until he was almost at the door. At the last second, Linka shot out of his chair and beneath the desk, squeezing right up against the solid flank of it. She was sheltered on three sides, but if Plunder sat at the desk he'd be bound to notice her.

She cursed silently and frowned, trying to send a message to Ma-Ti.

Plunder sank into his chair and pulled forward. Linka shrank further into the shadows, Plunder's knees barely three inches from her nose. If he moved his feet, he'd kick her and discover her instantly.

Sweat broke out on her brow. Somehow it felt natural to blame Wheeler and the argument for this new predicament. If she hadn't had the argument with him, her mind would have been clearer.

Ma-Ti hadn't answered her. Linka wondered if it was the toxic chemicals blocking her message to him, or her own angry and bitter thoughts.

She tried to relax and stop thinking so spitefully, but she was still angry. Somehow Wheeler had managed to make her feel arrogant and conceited, and that wasn't what she had meant at all. He had latched onto one tiny phrase she'd mistakenly used and turned it into a big deal.

She scowled and shrank back again as Plunder coughed and picked up the phone.

She winced and tried to think of a way to escape – but she was walled in, and there was no way she'd be able to get past Plunder without causing a disturbance.

Plunder spoke impatiently into the phone. "Bleak, it's me. Bring the car around."

Linka breathed a quiet sigh of relief, knowing Plunder wouldn't be at the desk much longer. She hoped he'd be able to get up and leave the room without noticing her.

Plunder coughed again and his chair creaked as he shifted.

Linka moved slowly and carefully, squinting at her watch. Half an hour had passed since she'd left the other Planeteers. If she didn't get out of there soon, she'd miss their meeting time and everyone would think something had happened to her.

She scowled again as she realised this would mean Wheeler would claim victory and think she'd messed up. She began fuming again, daydreaming of ways he could be taught a lesson. She hated arguing with him. She especially hated it when he was right, and she was beginning to realise she had been out of line.

He was clever – much cleverer than her when it came to certain things – and it bothered her that they had argued about such a touchy subject so vehemently.

She didn't like making people feel bad about themselves – even if they were loud-mouthed and cocky and occasionally deserving of being brought down a peg or two.

Plunder shifted and his knee grazed Linka's shoulder. She stiffened, terrified that he had felt it and would soon bend down to discover her there.

He remained oblivious, however.

Linka checked her watch again, listening to the thunder boom. The window panes rattled in their frames as the storm drew closer. Linka watched the minutes slide by on her tiny silver watch and grew more and more anxious. She didn't want to miss the deadline. She didn't want the other Planeteers to think she was in trouble.

She didn't want Wheeler to think he had to "rescue" her from anything.

xXx

"I _knew_ she shouldn't have gone off on her own," Wheeler said, looking rather smug.

"There's no need to be so full of yourself!" Gi snapped at him. "She could be in real trouble!"

Wheeler's face fell. "I know," he mumbled, glancing towards Plunder's factory. The light was still on in his office on the top floor.

"I cannot hear anything," Ma-Ti said, his brow creased with concentration. "There are too many fumes inside the factory."

"Plunder has not sent Bleak out to look for us," Kwame said thoughtfully. "I am not sure he knows we are here. Perhaps Linka has just lost track of time."

"When has Linka been late for anything?" Gi asked irritably, huddling beneath a nearby shrub as the rain started falling in heavier droplets. "She's in trouble."

"We should go and find her," Wheeler said.

Gi shot him a look of blame. "She probably wasn't thinking clearly," she said. "She was probably mad at you for that stupid argument you had."

"Like this stupid argument, you mean?" Wheeler shot back at her.

"Enough!" Ma-Ti cried.

Wheeler scowled at Gi and hunkered down in the damp dirt. "So what's the plan, then?"

"Gi, you stay here, in case Linka comes back," Kwame said. "We will go back into the factory and try to find her."

"Okay," Gi sighed, pulling herself further under the shelter of the sparse shrubbery. "Don't be too long, okay?"

"Half an hour," Kwame said, tapping his watch.

Gi had a small smile on her face as the boys got up and headed for the fence. "Don't get caught," she called after them. "I don't want to waste time coming to rescue you."

xXx

Linka's muscles were cramping and aching, and sweat ran down her face. The rain was falling steadily outside now.

Plunder hadn't moved, despite the phone call to Bleak.

Linka could hear him tapping at the computer keys just above her head. She longed to know what he was doing.

Her deadline had crawled past. She had watched it go with a mixture of worry and anger. She could imagine Wheeler uttering some sort of self-satisfied remark about her getting into trouble.

Which wasn't true at all – she wasn't in trouble. Yet.

Plunder sighed and pushed his chair back slightly.

Linka pressed herself further back against the desk, and jumped when the pressure of her weight against its side caused the wood to shift and offer a loud _crack_. Plunder jumped.

Linka's heart raced and her mouth was dry. She squeezed her eyes closed and crossed her fingers, praying he wouldn't look beneath the desk.

He pushed his chair back and began gathering papers. Linka heard the snapping of his briefcase as Bleak strode into the office.

"You took your time," Plunder snapped at him, shoving his chair in. It banged against Linka's knee and she bit her lip to stop herself crying out in pain.

"I had to finish loading the barrels onto the truck," Bleak said rather sulkily. "It wasn't easy doing it alone, you know."

"We're saving money by only hiring the workers two days a week, Bleak," Plunder replied silkily. "Let's go."

Linka breathed a sigh of relief as she heard them leave the office. She slowly nudged the chair back and emerged from beneath the desk, breathing in the cooler air and rubbing her aching knee. Her muscles shook and trembled as she unfolded her lithe form.

She carefully headed for the door of Plunder's office, peering out into the deserted corridor before she finally made her exit. She made it to the top of the stairs before she heard Plunder's voice ring out angrily, echoing against the latest crash of thunder.

"Planet pests!" he roared.

Linka's stomach dropped as she realised the others must have come looking for her. She hurried down the stairs and peered out into the main floor of the factory. Beams and pipes criss-crossed overheard, throwing a net-like pattern across everything.

She caught a glimpse of Wheeler as he ducked behind a row of toxic barrels. There was a mischievous grin on his face, as though he enjoyed the knowledge Plunder was so annoyed.

Linka glared towards his hiding place, angry with him for treating the situation so flippantly. She glanced around, unsure of where the others were.

Bleak was stalking between the barrels, drawing closer and closer to Wheeler, who still had his eyes fixed on Plunder. Linka hoped he wouldn't be stupid enough to use his ring near all those chemicals.

He caught sight of her across the room and his mouth dropped open.

She couldn't help it. She smirked at him.

His moment of distraction cost him. Bleak's hands came down heavily on his shoulders, and Wheeler was yanked off his feet.

"Watch it!" he cried, twisting around in Bleak's grasp. "You're messing up my hair, man."

"Shut it!" Bleak snapped, twisting Wheeler's arm up behind his back.

Linka winced, feeling a little guilty. She told herself it wasn't totally her fault – Wheeler hadn't been paying Bleak any attention at all anyway.

"Where are the others?" Plunder demanded, looking coldly at Wheeler.

"How should I know?" Wheeler asked rudely. "We don't keep tabs on one another 24/7, you know."

Plunder snarled and stormed away between the rows of barrels, searching shadows and corners for the other Planeteers.

Linka silently followed Bleak and Wheeler.

Wheeler was keeping up a running commentary. "It's wet out, huh?" he asked Bleak cheerfully. "I didn't even know a storm was forecast – I would have worn my other shoes. These ones leak."

"Shut up!" Bleak roared again, pulling Wheeler's arm further up against his back. Wheeler arched and staggered a little.

Linka glanced upwards. Across the ceiling ran several pipes – for water or gas, she assumed. She glanced around, did a quick stretch, and gracefully used the wall to leap up and hoist herself onto the pipe network. They ran over the open ceilings of the rooms below, and now and then a vertical support beam for the flooring above offered her another opportunity for balance. She tracked quickly along the widest pipe like it was a gymnast's beam, keeping Wheeler and Bleak within eyesight.

Bleak tripped Wheeler to the floor and quickly knotted loops of rope around his arms and chest.

"Sure you don't want to say where your friends are?" Bleak asked roughly, dragging Wheeler into a room off to the left. Linka nimbly followed, looking down at them quietly.

"Why?" Wheeler asked, pouting slightly. "Isn't my company enough, Bleak?"

Bleak snarled and slammed the door behind him, leaving Wheeler bound up on the floor. Linka watched him stalk away, back towards the main centre of the factory, before she crossed over the pipes to stand above Wheeler. He was struggling vainly on the floor, letting out a little grunt of effort now and then.

She watched him for a moment, feeling slightly validated by his obvious discomfort.

She hooked her knees around the pipe and swung down so she was looking at him upside-down. "Hello, Yankee," she said.

He stopped struggling. He looked annoyed. "Hello," he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

"This," Linka said haughtily, "is a waste of time."

Wheeler sighed and frowned slightly. "Okay, okay," he said grumpily. "I'm sorry I said that."

"Now _I_ am going to have to rescue _you_," she said sweetly.

He looked up at her, fighting amusement. "Well, are you planning on doing that anytime soon?" he asked. "Or are you just going to hang there like a giant fruit bat, making fun of me?"

Linka dropped gracefully to her feet and made her way towards him. She fell to her knees beside him and tugged at the ropes around his arms, using them to pull Wheeler into a sitting position. "I am sorry I said you were not as smart as I am," she said in a low whisper, avoiding his eyes. She could feel heat stealing into her cheeks as she uttered her apology.

"It's okay," Wheeler sighed. "It's true, anyway. I think I've managed to prove that beyond all doubt." He looked down at the ropes.

Linka untied him and helped him up. "You are very clever," she said, still avoiding his eyes. "I did not mean to say those things..."

"Yes you did," Wheeler grinned. "You hurt my feelings."

"I am _sorry_," Linka said, suddenly feeling mortified.

"I think I deserve a kiss," Wheeler said airily, "to really prove you're sorry."

Linka punched his arm and he yelped and laughed, giving her a slight shove.

"I'm sorry too," he said, moving aside so he could start blazing through the lock on the door. It gave way and the door slowly creaked open. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, babe."

She smiled at him and shrugged. "Street smarts," she said, tapping the side of her head.


	12. Alone

**Title:** Alone  
**Words:** 520  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Not _everything_ about the jungle in Thailand is bad...

* * *

**Notes:** Inspired by what is literally a two-second moment in "Beast of the Temple"...

Also, WTF, FFN? Sort yourself out, please! I have fic to post!

Thanks to everyone leaving me reviews/messages/favs/subscriptions/alerts! :)

* * *

She has never been alone with him before. There has always been something between them – something a little deeper. Something fun and serious, something warm and deliberate. But there has always been a crowd around them, until now.

The jungle is hot and moist. Insects settle on her skin and she waves at them and slaps them away. There is nothing about this experience she is enjoying.

Well – almost nothing.

His hand brushes hers in the dark and she glances up at him, but his eyes are fixed upon the dark and difficult path in front of them. She knows he is afraid of the dragon beast – more than he is letting on. He was never very good at hiding things and she can read him better than anyone, even now, here in the dark.

The ground begins to rise steeply. He goes first, slipping slightly on the muddy slopes, digging his fingers into the earth and hauling himself to the top of the ridge. He turns and offers his hand to her. She can feel mud and leaves between their palms as she accepts his help and lifts herself up to the ledge beside him.

The jungle is thick with silence. She can sense it and taste it and feel it pressing in around her. It speaks of things unnatural and frightening and she edges a little closer to him without realising it.

"I don't like this," she whispers loudly. "It's too quiet."

"Nothing will happen to you while you are with me," he promises quietly, squeezing her hand and leading her forward.

She smiles and keeps her eyes on his back, following him along the ridge. Creatures scurry and shift in the branches above and the leaf litter below. The trees above them block out the bright moon, though it shines through in glittering patches when it can.

He can see better than she can. When she snags her toe on a raised tree root and trips, he catches her and grins at her in the shadowy light.

"All right?" he asks.

"Uh-huh." She blinks up at him, her muddy fingers clutching the front of his t-shirt. She looks up at him and she feels like she's known him forever.

She remembers how childish she felt when she first laid eyes on him and thought how good looking he was. She grins at the memory and he smiles back at her, though can't know exactly why she looks so breathless and excited.

They are alone. After all this time, after all these years, this is the first time she has been truly, truly alone with him.

She leans up on her tiptoes and presses her mouth softly to his. The jungle falls quiet for long seconds as they kiss.

Her stomach swoops and her knees tremble. She breathes a quiet, pleasant sigh when they break apart.

"We should keep going, Gi," he whispers, smiling down at her. "We have a job to do."

Gi smiles and follows Nuok through the jungle, her hand in his.

Dragon beast or no dragon beast, the jungle suddenly doesn't seem so bad.


	13. Winter

**Title:** Winter  
**Words:** 1,196  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Ma-Ti thinks everything about Yellowstone is beautiful...

**Notes:** I really wanted to write a Ma-Ti fic, and I've had this idea in my head for _ages_, but it turned out to be far more difficult to write than I had originally anticipated. It's set during the episode "Night of the Wolf" - you know the one. The one with the robotic wolf, and Plunder's awesome Christmas jumper/sweater. Aw yeah.

Thanks to mudget and Becks for prodding me along - even if it took _much_ longer than I told them it would!

* * *

Before his work with the Planeteers, Ma-Ti had never seen snow.

Shaman had told him stories of it, and once Ma-Ti had even dreamed of it, though his dreams, acute as they usually were, had not once come close to the true beauty of ice and snow drifts.

When he felt it for the first time, he had expected it to be colder. He had not expected it to be so difficult to walk through, and he had joined the other Planeteers as they'd laughed as he and Kwame floundered about in the slippery tracks of it.

He was still awkward and unsure of snow when the Planeteers travelled to Yellowstone. He spent the journey only half-heartedly listening to Gi's breathless renditions of wolf stories and facts. Instead, he pressed his brow to the window, eager for the first glimpse of glittering, snow-peaked mountains.

He was cautious when he pressed his boots into it. The snow sank and compacted beneath him, crunching softly. The other Planeteers trudged ahead of him towards the cabin, and Ma-Ti watched their tracks criss-crossing, signalling the even companionship between them, and the short scuffle of an impromptu snowball fight.

He followed them, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, uncomfortable about disturbing the pristine surface coating the earth. He loved how clean and pure it was; how untouched it sat. He sent waves from his ring across the smooth dunes of it and felt the tiny stirrings of life beneath all the ice and snow – the twitch of a rabbit or the warm beat of a fox.

Life seemed even more precious when it was combined with such conditions.

* * *

Everything about Yellowstone was beautiful. Ma-Ti liked the way the morning air hurt against his skin. He liked the way the cold reminded him of how warm _he_ was, of how alive he was and of how smoothly and steadily his own heart beat against the wind and air. Snow made him feel warm and real, and he liked that.

What Ma-Ti liked most about Yellowstone, however, was Laura.

She led the way up the mountain, chatting amicably, her shoulders brushing the show-leaden branches of pines and frozen shrubs. Ma-Ti felt uncomfortably hot whenever she glanced in his direction.

"These wolves are penned in, right?" Wheeler asked nervously. Yips and barks were echoing through the trees ahead.

"Uh-huh," Laura answered. "Renee should be up here – she's the expert. She'll be able to tell you more about their behaviour."

"It's not like a wolf to attack cattle like this though, is it?" Gi asked, slipping slightly in her haste to keep up with Laura.

"I've never seen it happen before this winter," Laura answered heavily. "Wolves usually stay away from the farm – there's enough food for them in their regular hunting grounds. I don't think this winter should be any different." She glanced at Ma-Ti again, and he grabbed for Kwame's arm as he floundered into a particularly deep snow drift.

Laura smiled and pushed through the final trees.

The wolf pen was set up with a spectacular view over the valley below. Ma-Ti could see wood smoke from Laura's family home, though the farm itself was hidden by rocky crags further over. The wind whistled and blew ice flakes against his face.

He shivered and buried his nose into his scarf, his eyes watering. He snuck another glance at Laura, who was introducing everyone to Renee. Her eyes were bright and her nose was red with the cold. She looked comfortable and happy.

Ma-Ti's heart started beating a little faster.

"Man, they're huge!" Wheeler said, taking a slight step back from the fence separating him from the wolves. "They could take down a cow if they really wanted to."

"They could," Renee agreed, "but not so many at once, and wolves don't just kill for the sake of it."

"We had four more cows killed overnight, Renee," Laura said in a small voice. "Dad's getting real mad. He said he'll shoot any wolves on sight."

"We will stop them," Ma-Ti said, speaking up for the first time in her presence. "We will find out what is going on." His voice had a particular ring of confidence and promise to it, and he felt himself blushing as Laura beamed at him.

"Really?" she breathed. She gave him a smile that sent a hot flush of blood from his head to his toes. "Thank you, Ma-Ti."

* * *

Renee never seemed to run out of wolf stories. At first, they had held Ma-Ti's interest, but after a while he found himself staring into the flickering campfire, listening to the sounds of the wind and the snow falling from the branches around him.

The snow seemed less pretty at night. It was blue, and the paths through the trees were confusing. Ma-Ti wasn't used to finding landmarks in snow. Snow shifted and melted and built up, and it tricked you.

The trees were naked and gnarled at night, looking like scary skeletons in the silver moonlight. They looked less beautiful than they had during the day. Once or twice, Ma-Ti had sent a rapid, silent pulse from his ring at the sound of something shifting, only to discover it had been snow slipping from the bare branches.

Winter was unfamiliar to Ma-Ti, and he realised he was less tolerant to it without familiar, friendly light of the sun in the sky.

Ma-Ti was disturbed from his thoughts when the other Planeteers called a greeting through the trees.

He craned his neck to spot the visitor, and his stomach did another pleasant little flip-flop as Laura emerged, leading her horse.

"I made chowder," she said, holding a large flask forward. "It'll warm you right up." She smiled at Ma-Ti, and he felt plenty warm already.

Laura scuffed one boot awkwardly through the snow. "Can I talk to you?" she asked, looking somewhere over his right shoulder.

"Sure," Ma-Ti said in surprise. He suddenly hoped she wasn't about to tell him to go home – that she wasn't about to tell him the Planeteers couldn't possibly solve this, that there was no longer any need for them to be there...

Ma-Ti listened to the heavy footsteps of Laura's horse as it trudged behind them through the snow. It was colder here, without the fire, and the striped light of the forest was disorientating.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Laura said shyly, coming to a stop in a silvery clearing.

"Oh," Ma-Ti said, and relief swept over him. "No problem. You know, we will stay until the problem is solved."

"Really?" Laura asked, smiling at him. She stepped towards him, crushing wet snow. Her skin was pale in the moonlight, and her hair was dark and damp with the night frost.

"Of course," Ma-Ti said weakly, and Laura smiled again and kissed him softly.

Her kiss was warm – wonderfully, wonderfully warm, in all that snow and ice, and his stomach flipped again and his fingers trembled with the rush of pleasure and excitement shooting through him.

She smiled at him when they parted, and Yellowstone was beautiful again, even in the cold, cold night.


	14. Writer's Choice: Mud

**TITLE:** Mud  
**WORDS:** 1806  
**RATING:** PG  
**SUMMARY: **Kwame, Gi, and the ingredients to the biggest mudfest on Earth.

**NOTES:** Written for a prompt over at **smallfandomfest **on livejournal. I really wanted to make use of the Earth/Water thing here, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought Gi and Kwame each represent their powers in personality, too.

Thanks to **mudget **for beta'ing.

* * *

Once, when emptying his shoes of sand, Kwame had asked Gi why she liked the beach so much.

She had shrugged and looked out over the coastline of Hope Island with a smile on her face. "Beaches are special," she had said. "They're where the water meets the earth."

And he had smiled at that and said he had never thought of it that way. "When I think of earth and water mixing, I think of mud," he had admitted.

She had laughed and smiled at him. "It doesn't always end in mud," she'd said, and she'd motioned towards the beach and he had felt the tiniest thrill race up his spine as something deeper and heavier than their conversation occurred to him. "Sometimes it's beautiful and inspiring."

"Sometimes," he had agreed, and he had watched her walk away from him, her hair still ocean-damp against the back of her neck, and he couldn't help but think that the ingredients for a very muddy mess were right there in front of him.

xXx

Occasionally, Wheeler and Linka would combine their Planeteer powers to create a powerful blowtorch. Flames would race outwards, billowed by the wind, and a roar of intense heat would sound through the air.

It was a little like Wheeler and Linka themselves – unpredictable and blustery; violently passionate and loud.

When Kwame thought about combining his power with Gi's, he found himself feeling a little disheartened. Water and Earth rarely mixed well together.

He often wondered why this bothered him so much.

Sometimes he thought he had it all figured out. He always told himself to stop being so stupid.

xXx

When he'd caught Gi dawdling in the rain, trailing her bare toes through the wet grass and flicking clear drops from the ends of her fingers, Kwame had asked her why she wasn't running for cover.

"A little rain won't hurt me," she had said, tilting her face to the sky.

Kwame had blinked the rain from his lashes, his desire for shelter becoming secondary to the pleasure of watching the rain run down the pale length of Gi's neck.

"Don't you think it's amazing," she had said dreamily, half to herself, "That water falls from the sky _and_ rises from the earth? It meets itself halfway."

Kwame had thought then that Gi had a way of making the most uncomfortable moments quite pleasant.

_Water,_ he had thought, _is incredible._

xXx

On a late trip back from a Planeteer mission, with the stars growing brighter above them and the sea below them vast and black, Kwame had turned to Gi, who was sitting in the co-pilot's seat beside him.

"You live and breathe your Planeteer powers far more than I do," he had confessed, feeling somewhat guilty and suddenly unworthy of his ring.

She had smiled at him. "Not really."

"You find beauty and pleasure in everything to do with water."

"Don't you?"

He had looked at her for perhaps a split second too long. "Yes," he had answered, and there had been an ache in his throat.

She had smiled back at him and he'd suddenly wondered if she'd seen the secrets in his eyes.

"Earth is pretty incredible too, Kwame," she'd whispered, the sleep-heavy breath of the other Planeteers filling the silences between her words. "All that time and patience and strength it takes to build a mountain out of a small ridge of dirt or stone? Don't you think that's beautiful?"

He had smiled at her, and his heart had pounded in his chest. "Perhaps."

"I think it is," she'd said, and she'd turned back to face the skyline. "I think you have the same sort of patience and strength. I think you live and breathe your Earth power as much as I do my Water."

He had thought perhaps he should thank her for showing such faith and support after he'd confessed his little insecurity. But she had smiled at him again and he had simply watched her settle back in her seat and close her eyes, the smooth motion of the geo-cruiser eventually lulling her to sleep.

He had stayed awake, his face lit up by the auto-pilot light, and as the mountain peaks of Hope Island came into view, silhouetted against the starry sky, he had wondered how much time and patience it had taken the earth to rise up so tall.

And as he had taken control of the geo-cruiser again and begun their descent, he couldn't help but think that no matter how much time or patience Earth had, Water could always wear it down again.

xXx

Gi had appeared when the afternoon seemed its hottest. Kwame's shirt had been damp against his back but he hadn't noticed how thirsty he was until Gi had handed him a bottle of water.

He had thanked her and sat back on his heels to drink it, his eyes running over the long thin rows of seedlings he'd been planting.

"Why don't you do this when it's cooler?" Gi had asked him curiously.

"I had not realised how late it was," Kwame had admitted, stretching his back and looking up at her. He had watched as she'd stretched out her arm in one clean movement, summoning rain from the humidity-heavy air and showering it lightly over the tiny green trees.

"I thought you would be down at the beach," he had said then.

Gi had smiled down at him. "It's almost too hot to walk across the sand. I can't believe you're out in the sun doing this. Come inside for a bit."

When he'd followed her along the path between the taller trees of the forest, watching her bare feet leaving soft prints in the earth, he had remembered a phrase Wheeler had directed at a tall, mini-skirted brunette in New York once.

_Now there's a tall drink of water._

He hadn't really understood it at the time, but as he'd followed Gi through the cooler air of the rainforest, he'd begun to think maybe Wheeler had a talent for fitting words to odd little cravings.

xXx

Gi had looked embarrassed, trying to wipe the tears from her face without drawing attention to them. They had left clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks.

"I know it hurts," Kwame had apologised, wringing the cloth free of blood and water. He had touched the cloth to her arm again, trying to clear the wound free of dirt and blood so he could start picking the gravel from her skin.

It had been partly his fault, and guilt sat like a weight in his stomach.

"It's all right," Gi had said, her voice rather watery. "Just do it." She had looked away as he'd used a pair of tweezers to pick the bigger pieces of gravel from her skin. Blood had welled to the surface.

"Could you get me some fresh water?" he had asked, emptying the dish into the dirt and holding it towards her.

She had obliged quietly, crystal-clear water filling the bowl and then turning cloudy as Kwame poured more antiseptic into it.

The water had slowly turned muddy brown – with dirt and blood – as he'd finished bathing the wound on her arm.

"Do you think it'll scar?" she'd asked. "Am I allowed to be that superficial?"

He had laughed in surprise and caught her eye. "I think it will scab and heal quite neatly."

She'd smiled at him and then watched him finish clearing her skin of dirt and gravel.

"I wouldn't trust anyone else to do this," she had said to him, and the words had glowed like little gems between them.

xXx

Kwame was a strong swimmer, but Gi was nimble and light in the water. She could twist and turn in sharp, quick little movements, and sometimes she held her breath so long he feared for her.

She had laughed when he'd dove down looking for her one cloudy afternoon. They had both surfaced, breathless, but she had smiled and giggled and splashed him lightly.

For a moment his concern had threatened to turn into anger. He had been incredibly worried.

But it was hard to stay mad at someone with such a clear, bubbly laugh and dew-bright eyes. He had let his toes touch the sandy ocean floor.

"It worries me when you do that," he had confessed.

She'd smiled. "I know."

Part of him had wanted to resent her a little for worrying him so purposefully.

But she'd blinked her wet lashes at him. "I'm sorry," she'd said. "I'll stop doing it, if you want."

"No," he had said, and he was relieved he had said it, because she'd smiled that wide smile at him again.

"You should let go, now and then," Gi had said, her toes rising out of the water as she floated by him on her back. "You don't have to be so grounded all the time."

He had glanced at the ring on his finger, and small smile had crossed his face. "Yes I do."

And as he'd watched her float by him, it felt as though he were sinking, being pulled back down to Earth.

xXx

It was the wine making him feel like this, he had decided. He wasn't used to drinking wine, but Wheeler had been refilling his glass when it reached half empty, and he'd probably consumed more than he'd thought.

Gi had giggled at him knowingly, and that had been enough to set the grin on his face.

He had followed her to the porch and she had held her hand to her head, swaying slightly towards him. "I think I need some water," she'd breathed.

And he had nodded, and it had been the wine, definitely the wine, because he'd said, "I need a little water too." And he had breathed the word _water_ so heavily, she had to have known what he'd meant.

Had to.

"Just," she'd sighed, reaching for him, her fingers curling into his shoulders, "Steady." She blinked up at him and the moon shone on her skin. "Steady, Kwame."

Steady Kwame. Steady like a rock; always.

Almost always.

"What do you get when you mix Earth and Water?" he had whispered. "Mud?"

"A little mud won't hurt us," she had assured him. Smiling.

He had kissed her then, just softly, and she had tasted not of water but of wine. But the way she'd moved her arms around him was fluid and smooth, and he had felt himself turning from rock into something much more relaxed. Something malleable.

Something that fit them both.

xXx


	15. Shelter

**TITLE:** Shelter  
**WORDS:** 3,156  
**RATING:** PG  
**SUMMARY: **Wheeler and Linka take shelter from the rain.

**NOTES:** So I'm feverishly trying to write a Captain Planet fic for the het_bigbang challenge on livejournal, but I needed a break. So I wrote something else - Wheeler/Linka fluff. Something I haven't written in a while! I hope I haven't lost my touch.

Thanks to **mudget **for being such a great cheerleader.

* * *

Linka coughed and leaned over, her hands on her knees, her breath deep and ragged. Behind her, Wheeler slammed the rattling doors of the barn closed, fumbling with the latch. The wind buffeted against the weather-beaten boards, which creaked and groaned at the strain.

"Man," Wheeler breathed, running his hands through his wet hair. "I'm soaked. Like we didn't already have enough to deal with."

Linka shook her head. "The rain is good," she said. "It will hide our tracks."

Wheeler sent a worried glance to the barn doors as he heard the distant barking of the dogs chasing them. "Hope so," he said. He glanced around the barn. The roof was roughly patched, with rain pouring down in isolated little waterfalls here and there. Scattered bundles of hay covered the dirt floor, and rusted farm machinery sat hulking and dusty in the corners. A scrawny cat with glowing eyes watched him quietly from the top of a pile of jumbled crates and boxes.

Linka wrung the rainwater from her hair, shivering slightly.

"What now?" Wheeler asked, slapping his jacket pocket so water squelched to the floor.

"We wait for the others to find us," Linka answered. She inspected the pins on her vest to make sure they were all still there before she shrugged out of it and gathered the hem of her t-shirt in her hands, wringing more water to the floor.

"That could take a while," Wheeler said doubtfully. "Especially if Plunder knows they're there."

Linka sighed, already feeling rather exasperated. "Well, then we will wait until the rain stops, and then _we_ will try to find _them_," she said, raising her eyebrow slightly at him.

He grinned and shrugged. "That could also take a while," he said. "But okay. How about I start a fire so we can keep warm?"

"In a barn?" Linka asked scathingly.

"It's not going to be a huge wildfire," Wheeler said, kicking a pile of hay together with his foot. "But if you'd rather cuddle, I understand."

Linka muttered something under her breath, and he grinned.

He kept the fire small. From what he could tell as they'd hastened into the barn, it wasn't in sight of any other building, and from the looks of the interior, it had long since been abandoned. But he had no intention of drawing attention from anyone, and he had the same concerns as Linka: there was plenty to burn, and he only wanted to burn enough to stay warm.

Linka sank down beside the small blaze gratefully, pulling her hair from its ponytail and tousling her fingers through it.

"Have you heard from Ma-Ti?" Wheeler asked, finally turning his attention to his wet clothing. He kicked his shoes off and nudged them closer to the fire, praying they'd dry.

Linka shook her head. "I hope nothing has happened."

"Maybe they got the dogs set on them as well," Wheeler answered, glancing to the door again, unable to forget the snarling, growling beasts Plunder had sent after them.

"Maybe," Linka agreed, pulling her socks off and wringing them out. She draped them neatly across the toes of her sneakers, and sent a look of disapproval towards Wheeler's socks, which were crumpled carelessly on the floor.

Wheeler shrugged out of his jacket and stripped his wet t-shirt off without a second thought. "I hope they managed to get _inside_ the warehouse, at least," he said, twisting the material in his hands so water ran over his wrists to the floor.

"Mm," Linka murmured, fixing her eyes on the fire and refusing to budge them.

"You should wring that out," Wheeler said, pointing to her shirt.

Linka spluttered. "You want me to take my shirt off?"

He grinned and shrugged. "I won't look."

"I do not believe you," she muttered. She crossed her arms over her chest and edged closer to the fire. Her hair had spiralled into thin ringlets around her shoulders.

Wheeler stretched out, propping himself up on his elbows with a sigh. "Want to play I Spy?" he asked.

A smile quirked at the corner of Linka's mouth. "_Nyet,_ I do not think so." She shivered again and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"Seriously," he said, "I won't look. At least wring the water out of it. You're still dripping."

Linka looked down at herself. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and when she looked at him again, her eyes were dangerously bright. "Turn around," she ordered.

Wheeler sighed and rolled over. Linka rolled her eyes when she saw dirty smudges from the floor across his back.

"If you look," she said, "I will blow you through the wall."

"I believe you," Wheeler answered, though he couldn't resist turning a little to look at her as he spoke.

"Wheeler!" Linka barked.

He raised his hand in defeat. "Okay, okay." He turned back to face the wall again.

Linka waited several long seconds before she moved, watching him closely. "Do not move," she ordered him.

"Mm," Wheeler answered. "Hurry up, babe, I'm cold all the way over here."

She peeled her wet t-shirt away from her skin, shivering as her back became exposed to the cold air. She twisted the material in her hands, wringing rainwater to the floor. She edged away from the puddle she'd created and shook her t-shirt out again. It was still damp, and now hopelessly wrinkled. She bit her lip and frowned, not really wanting to force the wet material back over her skin.

She looked at Wheeler's t-shirt, in a heap on the floor, and rolled her eyes again. After a moment she reached for his jacket. It was soaked across the shoulders, but the inner lining was still mostly dry, and it was heavier and warmer than her t-shirt would ever be. She shrugged into it and held it closed at the front with a tight fist.

"Okay, you can look now," she said, pulling her hair out of the collar so it draped across her shoulders again.

Wheeler grinned when he saw her. "I didn't say you could wear that," he said. "Suppose I make you take it off?"

"Try and make me," Linka challenged, but she smiled at him and tossed her t-shirt at him across the flickering fire. "Drape them over the end of the feeding crate behind you, Yankee. Your shirt will never dry if you leave it in a heap on the floor."

Wheeler obeyed, and dragged the crate closer to the fire. He rubbed his hands together and shivered slightly. "I hope the others are okay," he said, staring down into the flames. "If Plunder's got hold of them, we shouldn't be wasting time here."

Linka twisted a curl around her finger. "The dogs are still out there. I think they had tracking beacons on their collars. We do not want Plunder to find us, either, and he will if he sees the dogs are guarding something."

"So we sit tight for a bit? Until we know for sure the dogs are gone?"

Linka checked her watch. "It has only been an hour since we were detected on Plunder's property. Perhaps the others do not know we are missing, yet."

Wheeler sat another piece of busted old crate on top of the fire. It crackled and sparked as it caught alight, and a new wave of warmth flooded outwards. Linka breathed a sigh and edged a little closer, holding her bare toes toward the small flames.

He watched the light play over her toes and the delicate arches of her feet, before he let his eyes travel up the length of her bare legs, gleaming and pale by the light of the fire. His jacket was a heavy bulk around her, and he could see her white knuckles clenching the material closed at the front. He raised his eyes along the smooth length of her throat, her hair several shades darker in its wet state, curling gently around her shoulders.

He grinned when he saw her eyes, slightly unfocused but obviously watching the play of the firelight against his chest.

She saw him watching her and she reddened and looked back at the fire, pulling his jacket tight across her shoulders.

He sat up and edged closer to her; close enough so his arm brushed against the damp sleeve of his own jacket.

"So," he said. "You, me, a rain storm. Firelight..."

Linka muttered something that sounded distinctly like _bozhe moy._ Her cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment after being caught staring at Wheeler's chest.

Wheeler slung his arm around her shoulders and felt the familiar play of her muscles stiffening at his touch. "Kinda romantic," he said.

Linka sighed. "Wheeler, in case you had forgotten, we are still in the middle of a mission. A mission in which nothing has gone right so far -"

"That depends on your interpretation," he interrupted, and he stroked his finger along the hollow just behind her ear.

She jumped, and her eyes widened and he knew he'd touched a spot which she enjoyed having touched.

Which probably meant he was in trouble.

Linka looked up at him from beneath her frown. He was entirely too close for comfort, but she still felt flustered and embarrassed about being caught staring at him, and her reaction to the touch of his finger against her neck had only increased the fluttering in her stomach and the tingling feeling down her spine.

She reverted to what was comfortable: admonishment.

"We should be thinking of a plan to help the others, not playing games or being silly," she said, shoving him.

"I thought the plan was to sit here until it stopped raining, and then go back and find the others," Wheeler said, looking amused by her reaction. He kept his arm around her shoulders, her shove not being strong enough or determined enough to create much distance between them. "Maybe they're sitting in a barn somewhere waiting for the rain to stop as well."

"I bet they are not sitting like this," Linka said, raising her eyebrow at him in a slightly threatening sort of way.

"You never know," Wheeler said dismissively. "Kwame and Gi have got that quiet sexual tension thing going on -"

"Wheeler!" Linka yelped. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed red anew, until she started to laugh. "You are impossible, Yankee! Get off me."

He grinned and daringly stroked his finger against the soft skin of her neck again. She squirmed and shoved him harder.

"Stop it," she said, though the smile on her face lingered.

He dropped his arm obediently, though left it curled loosely about her waist. She seemed to relax slightly, and he considered it a win.

"So, seriously, you don't want to play I Spy?" he asked.

Linka sighed. He felt her back expand and shift against his arm and he felt a new heat in his chest; something completely unrelated to the fire flickering in front of them.

"We could play something else," he whispered, ducking his head and pushing his mouth close to her ear so his breath was warm against her skin.

She shifted, her cheeks still pink from her earlier embarrassment and laughter. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to decide how to react now.

Wheeler tightened his arm around her waist, drawing her to him, securely and firmly. There was nothing physical about her resistance, but her mind argued that no matter how fluttery and light-headed Wheeler made her feel, being this close to him was not a good idea.

"Ever played spin the bottle?" he asked, his voice low against the loud rush of rain against the roof of the barn.

Linka swallowed. "We do not have a bottle," she said. "And there are only two of us."

"So we can just cut out the middle man," Wheeler answered. "Get right to the good part."

Linka pulled in a quivery breath, and tightened her fingers against the front of Wheeler's jacket, pulling it against her skin.

She took too long trying to answer him. Not hearing a response, Wheeler leaned in and kissed her.

Linka stiffened immediately, her mind whirring and trying to dissect the situation quickly so it could tell her how to react. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not pull a coherent thought from the jumble they had suddenly become.

The backs of Wheeler's fingers brushed her cheek, and she felt his tongue move slowly against her lower lip. She opened her mouth slightly and heard her breath expel slowly through her nose as new blood rushed through her body, her nerves tingling in the tips of her fingers and the depths of her stomach.

He broke the kiss before she was ready, and she felt flustered as she realised she had leaned into him, following his withdrawing kiss.

He grinned at her, looking smug.

She sighed and pulled away, deciding to play straight. "There is no need to look so pleased with yourself," she said.

He immediately swept a look of gratitude onto his face, bowing his head submissively. "That better?" he asked.

"Idiot." Linka smiled and ran her hand through her hair, drawing a quivery breath. She listened to the rain pattering to the bare earth floor behind her.

Wheeler leaned in again and pressed his lips to her warm cheek. "You're pretty when you're trying to be moral," he said.

"Do not try to sugar-talk me, Yankee."

He chuckled and kissed lower, against the point of her jaw.

She tilted her head, but continued to argue. "What time is it?" she asked nervously. "Do you think the others have noticed us missing by now? Do you think there is a reason we have not heard from Ma-Ti?"

Wheeler pressed his lips gently against the soft skin just below her earlobe, and listened to her breath hitch in her throat. He didn't know the answers to any of her questions – he could perhaps guess, if she really wanted to know – but he suspected she was only talking because it felt like the most comfortable thing to do.

He kissed her mouth again, not intending to break this kiss so soon. He curled his hand into a fist when he felt Linka kissing him back, her mouth warm and open against his. This was better than he had ever imagined, better than he had ever dared hope it to be. He had often forced himself to imagine anti-climactic touches with her, trying to talk himself into holding back, that it wouldn't be worth the trouble it could possibly cause.

But this was good.

Linka sighed softly when the kiss broke, her lashes fluttering.

"This mission is going pretty well, huh?" Wheeler asked with a grin.

Linka smiled back at him before she turned back to the fire, wrapping her arms around her legs again. There was still a faint tinge of pink in her face, and she looked quietly pleased with herself.

Wheeler kept his arm around her, and when he pulled her a little closer, she looked up at him with a slightly-raised eyebrow.

"For warmth," he said, grinning at her.

"Perhaps you should put your shirt back on," she said, giving him a sweet smile.

"Or you could just give me back my jacket."

She clutched it closed at the front again, and he laughed.

Linka cleared her throat and ran her fingers over her lower lip, remembering the touch of Wheeler's mouth against hers. It had been surprisingly soft and gentle, and she could still feel the pull of it deep down in her stomach, like a warm swirl of butterflies.

"Sure you're warm enough now?" Wheeler asked. "I can probably get closer..."

Linka looked up at him beneath her lashes, giving him a coy smile. "I could be a little warmer, I suppose...?"

He seemed surprised that she was playing along, but he didn't hesitate. He kissed her again, and this time she felt more confident – she leaned into him eagerly, controlling her breath, and felt her chest tighten as Wheeler's hand cupped her cheek.

The rain continued to pour down. The packed earthen floor of the barn was becoming a mixture of mud and straw at the far end, and the wind continued to whistle through the gaps in the walls and the roof, scattering hay and causing the fire in front of Wheeler and Linka to flicker and sputter occasionally.

So close to the fire, their t-shirts dried quickly, and Linka soon insisted they get dressed again. Partly because no matter how nice it was to be shut in a barn kissing Wheeler, she knew they still had a job to do – and partly because she was hyper-aware of his bare chest.

"Turn around," she instructed Wheeler sternly. He obeyed, only daring to look again after she'd tossed his jacket back at him.

"It is still a little damp under the arms," Linka sighed, pulling at her shirt. "But it is not too bad."

Wheeler pulled his t-shirt over his head and spread his jacket over a nearby bale of hay. He leaned against it and held his arm out, hoping Linka would come back and curl against him again.

She hesitated for a long moment, but eventually sank against him, tense and nervous again.

"My jeans are still wet," Wheeler said after a moment.

"Keep your trousers on, Yankee."

He grinned and kissed the top of her head. "You know, being chased through the rain by a pack of savage dogs kind of worked out, didn't it?"

Linka bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. "Did it?"

"Uh-huh." Wheeler's fingers trailed down the back of her neck, and she shivered.

"Wheeler..."

"Sorry." He grinned, adding it to the short list he had of Things Linka Liked. "I won't do it again."

She made a small noise of disbelief in the back of her throat. She stretched her toes toward the fire again. "When do you think the rain will stop?" she asked, tilting her head up to him.

"No idea," he answered, brushing his mouth over hers. "I don't really care. I've decided I kinda like rainy days."


	16. Wait

**PROMPT:** Wait

**WORDS:** 3008

**SUMMARY:** Kwame and Gi are forced to wait out a storm after the geo-cruiser crash-lands, leaving them stranded.

**NOTES:** #053 in my table, but mainly taken from the prompt in the cpfanfic community on livejournal:

_Whilst on a routine scout, the GeoCruiser suddenly loses altitude and crash lands on an island. Kwame has to tend to a injured Gi as he waits for the others to rescue them._

* * *

"You look very disappointed, over there."

Gi flashed Kwame a tired grin. "Sorry; I know. I was hoping to see them today." She peered through the window of the geo-cruiser to the ocean below, hoping to spot the pod of dolphins she'd been tracking the past few weeks. "I guess they're not in the mood to play today."

"It may be because of the weather," Kwame said, pointing ahead. "The storm is coming in fast."

Gi winced and took the flight stick back into her hands. "Let me just make one more pass, then we'll head back."

"I am sure your friends are fine, Gi," Kwame said soothingly, though he didn't argue as Gi dipped the geo-cruiser and banked left.

"I know," Gi said, sounding a little guilty. "It's just – with the tuna being so scarce at the moment, boats are coming further and further out to sea. I've been seeing more and more of them lately, and not all of them are careful." She chewed her lip and peered down at the sea. It was grey and dark, the waves capped with white foam that sprayed upwards on the wind.

"I hope there are no little fishing boats out in this weather," Kwame said, looking down at the ocean. "It looks quite rough down there."

As he spoke, the geo-cruiser bobbed through a pocket of turbulence, causing them both to clutch at the controls.

"It's getting worse," Gi agreed. "We should go back." She sighed and shook her head. "Sorry for the wasted journey, Kwame."

He smiled. "Not wasted. Merely – quiet."

She laughed and turned the geo-cruiser around again, gripping the controls as the wind smacked into them, catching the side of the craft and making it shudder.

"Good thing neither of us get airsick," Gi joked, though she felt rather tense as she glimpsed the purple clouds overhead.

"There is always a first time," Kwame murmured, tightening his seatbelt. "Are you all right?"

"I've got it," Gi confirmed, her fingers gripping the controls tight. "I'll let you know if I need help."

They flew in silence for a few minutes, though both of them could feel the storm getting worse. The geo-cruiser bobbed on the rough currents of wind, and rain soon began to lash at the windows, reducing visibility to what was merely a few feet. Kwame watched Gi glancing at the radar more and more frequently, her knuckles white as she adjusted their direction each time the wind knocked them off course.

"It's going to take a while to get home," Gi said anxiously. "I didn't know the storm was coming in so fast, or I wouldn't have kept us out so long..."

"We will be all right," Kwame assured her. "It is only wind and rain. We have survived worse." He gave her a smile which he hoped was reassuring.

She grinned back at him. "True," she said. "Though that thought doesn't exactly make this enjoyable."

"Let me know if you want me to take over."

Gi bit her lip. "I just – I can't keep us on course."

"Well, we are in no hurry."

Gi laughed, but she sounded nervous. She checked the radar again. Her arms were aching, but pride prevented her from asking Kwame to take over.

Lightning flashed overhead, and for a moment, Gi saw the waves below, lit up with silver peaks.

"This would be fun to watch from the porch," she said, wishing she was already home.

"It must look spectacular from a distance," Kwame agreed. He leaned forward in his seat a little, his eyes narrowed. Water streamed down the windows. "Gi..."

"What?" she asked, glancing at the radar again. The storm was all around them.

"I thought I saw –"

Lightning flashed again, and Gi saw it – too late. The trees were all lined in silver until the lightning fell away again and cast the island into darkness, cloud and mist rolling in over the windows of the geo-cruiser. Gi gripped the controls and tugged back, her heart pounding in her chest, her mouth dry. She felt something snag sharp against the left wing of the cruiser, and they bounced and rolled, the wind catching hold of them again.

She screamed, and felt Kwame's hands grip over her own, clutching the control stick, pulling hard to the right. The nose lifted, but there was another jolt, and Gi heard it this time; heard the squeal of metal as they fell again.

Kwame heard his own gasp, like his body was preparing to dive into deep water. He gripped the control stick and tried to pull back again, Gi's hands small and trapped under his own, but the wind had caught hold of them, and the left side of the craft was damaged and no longer responding.

Lightning lit up their faces for a brief moment, the treetops shining and wet in the rain, and leaves slapped and pummelled against the glass as the cruiser sank into the jungle, metal screaming and tearing open as they fell.

* * *

Kwame blinked, his breath ragged and loud in his ears. He didn't think he'd been out for long – a few seconds maybe. He drew in a slow breath and blinked again, trying to clear his head. Pain ran across his shoulders, and his face was wet. He hoped it was because of the rain.

He reached out tentatively, his shoulders protesting every movement. "What..." He pressed a hand to his forehead and tipped his head back. The control panel lay smoking beneath him, glass and shredded leaves scattered over the blinking lights. He hung from his seatbelt, the geo-cruiser upside down, the windows smashed in.

Kwame pushed a palm frond out of the way and tried to figure out how he was going to get down. "Gi?" He reached for her, more leaves pushed between them, broken and wet. "Gi, are you all right?"

He felt her, her arms hanging limp, stretched toward the floor. He pushed leaves out of the way and glimpsed her, her face pale, dark blood running up into her hair.

"Gi..." Kwame struggled with his seatbelt, clutching at the headrest until he half-fell, half-jumped from his seat. He hissed in a sharp breath as his hand took his weight, glass and the broken remains of the control panel pressing into his palm.

"Gi..." He knocked the leaves out of the way, aware that more smoke was starting to billow from the front of the aircraft.

He stood for a moment, feeling shaky. He touched Gi's cheek gently. "Gi? Can you hear me?"

She was slack and limp in her seat, her arms hanging toward the floor, her fingers half-curled and loose. Blood dripped from her brow.

Kwame jumped as something behind the control panel sparked loudly. Rain was starting to pool on the floor, dripping through the smashed windows and off the leaves that had pushed their way in.

"Gi, I am going to have to move you," Kwame said anxiously. "I hope I do not hurt you..." He unbuckled her carefully, catching her safely as she slid into his arms. She didn't stir or murmur, though he could feel her breath fluttering against the side of his neck as he staggered to the back of the aircraft, debris and water making him unsteady on his feet.

He winced and muttered apologies as he shifted Gi's weight across his shoulders, hoping he wasn't hurting her; hoping he wasn't causing her further pain or damage. He tugged one of the duffel bags out of the cupboard at the back of the geo-cruiser, his throat tight with anxiety. He could smell the smoke as it drifted back along the upturned cruiser, could hear the wires and electronics behind the control panel sparking and flickering.

He pushed the door open and stepped down into the jungle, Gi's body draped carefully across his shoulders. He ducked and hurried through wet leaves and trailing vines until he found an outcrop of rock. The beach was visible through the trees, though the rain was still pelting down, making everything misty and blurred.

Gi mumbled something as he set her down, and he leaned over her and checked her breathing, smoothing her wet hair away from her eyes.

"Gi?" He listened carefully, but she made no response. He frowned and glanced up, watching the rain drip from the edge of the outcrop he'd found. It wasn't the best shelter from the storm, but it would have to do for now.

He tore open the bag and rummaged for the first aid kit, wiping the blood from Gi's brow with antiseptic-soaked cloth. He was relieved to see it wasn't as bad as he'd first thought it to be.

Gi mumbled something again, and he tilted his head worriedly. He didn't think it was English, whatever she was saying. He leaned over her again, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Gi?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

She stirred, but Kwame put his hand on her shoulder. "Be still," he urged. "Try not to move."

Gi blinked, though her eyes were unfocused. "What happened?"

"We crashed. We –"

A loud crack and a splintering sound cut Kwame off. He looked back over his shoulder and saw a black plume of smoke rise into the air. Through the trees, he could see the orange glow of the fire that had started in the control panel of the geo-cruiser.

Kwame turned back to Gi. "Just be still," he said gently. "Can you move your arms and legs?"

Gi gave him a small wave to prove she could, and a weak grin flitted across her face. "Want to dance?"

He gave a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. "Not right now."

Gi closed her eyes again. "I have a headache," she mumbled.

"I do not doubt it," Kwame muttered, pressing a bandage against the gash on Gi's brow. "Do you remember much?"

"Just the... the trees..." Gi frowned and blinked, trying to stay awake. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "Just a little bruised."

"Have you contacted the others?"

"Not yet." Kwame quickly searched for Ma-Ti, though putting extra effort into it caused his head to pound.

Gi tried to sit up, but Kwame urged her down again.

"You should keep still," he said worriedly. "You have had a nasty knock on the head."

Gi gave him a shaky smile. "I've survived worse." She lifted a trembling hand and brushed her thumb over his lip. "You're bleeding."

Kwame touched his lip and felt the cut; sucked lightly and felt blood well to the surface. He was beginning to feel the aches and pains he'd sustained in the crash, and his wet clothes were beginning to chill him. He was sure a certain amount of it had to do with shock, but he didn't want to sit and think about that too much, in case he worried himself in a state of inaction.

"I'm cold," Gi said, voicing Kwame's thoughts.

"I will start a fire," he agreed, and he looked back over his shoulder at the geo-cruiser, which was well and truly on fire now, smoke rising into the air, rain hissing and spitting as it fell through the trees to the flames.

"Everything's wet," Gi said weakly.

"I will find something," he promised. "Do not move, all right?"

Gi murmured something that sounded like acquiescence.

Kwame scrambled out from beneath the outcrop and into the rain again, wet leaves brushing his shoulders as he pushed through the jungle. He shivered, wincing as his muscles protested new movement. He was beginning to stiffen up, bruises and cuts from the crash making themselves evident now that he had time to discover them. He picked a sliver of glass from the heel of his hand before he pushed on through the undergrowth.

The edge of the beach was lined with driftwood and seaweed. Kwame carried as much as he could manage back to Gi, piling it up against the rock, his fingers trembling, rain running down his skin. She watched him quietly, her face pale in the thin afternoon light. Thunder rumbled overhead, the storm still low and close.

"You got a Fire Planeteer in your pocket?" she asked hopefully, watching him stack the driest wood he could find into a pile.

He smiled and pulled a box of waterproof matches from the duffel bag. "Something that will do the same job," he said, "with less arguments."

Gi gave a low chuckle and closed her eyes.

The fire smoked at first, but Kwame was patient, and had been forced to light fires in wet weather before. He smiled in triumph when it finally caught, and warmth flooded outwards.

Gi breathed a sigh of relief, though she still looked pale and weak. Kwame leaned over her worriedly.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I just crash-landed," she admitted. "Sorry I'm not much help."

"I will not hold it against you," he promised.

Gi watched quietly as he fed more pieces of wood to the flames. "Kwame," she whispered, "I'm sorry we didn't turn back sooner."

He gave her a kind smile. "It is not your fault, Gi. The storm moved so fast; it would have caught up with us anyway. We are lucky we crashed somewhere solid."

Another smile flitted across her face. "I guess." She reached for him and he took her hand as he continued to feed the fire. Gi closed her eyes again.

* * *

_There you are._ Kwame sighed with relief when he finally caught hold of Ma-Ti.

_Here I am,_ Ma-Ti answered. _Where are you? Are you all right?_

Kwame pressed his palm against his brow. He was aching all over. He glanced down at Gi, asleep at his side. _Gi and I have crashed. The geo-cruiser is – it is gone. We need help._

He felt a momentary wave of panic from the Heart Planeteer before Ma-Ti reeled it back. _We will be there as soon as we can. Do you know your coordinates?_

_No. We are on one of the islands to the south-west._ Kwame frowned, feeling a little frustrated that this was the best he could give. _We were blown off-course. Ma-Ti, do not leave until the storm passes. We are all right._

_Where is Gi?_

Kwame grimaced. _She is here. She hit her head. We will be all right until you get here, Ma-Ti. Do not worry too much._ He tried to put as much reassurance into that thought as possible. He wondered if Ma-Ti could tell how much pain he was in, and decided not to think about it too much in case those thoughts travelled over.

_We will be there as soon as we can._

Kwame sighed and leaned his back against the rocky outcrop. He had no choice but to wait.

The rain had lessened, though the thunder still rumbled overhead, and the sky hung low and purple, heavy with cloud.

Gi hadn't stirred since Kwame had last disturbed her. He kept waking her up, not sure if it was a good idea to let her sleep or not – at least, not until someone could check her over and give a proper diagnosis of her injuries.

He tugged a blanket from the duffel bag and draped it over her, smoothing it lightly over her shoulder, watching her breathing. She stirred at the touch.

"Is it still raining?" she asked tiredly.

"Yes."

"Are the others coming?"

"As soon as the storm passes."

She breathed a sigh and looked up at him. "Hi," she said, and her eyes looked clearer this time. Her cheeks had a pink hue that hadn't been there before.

Kwame smiled at her. "Hello."

She gave a small laugh and sat up groggily, clutching one hand to her head, her fingers gently probing the bump at her hairline.

"Be careful," Kwame said worriedly, not sure she should be moving too much. For a moment he remembered the way she had hung limp in the pilot's seat, her arms swaying toward the floor, blood running across her skin. He swallowed and helped her settle herself, one arm across her shoulders in case she fell.

She leaned against him gratefully, dragging the blanket back up to her chin. "Nice work on the fire," she said tiredly. "I'll have to tell Wheeler to watch his back."

Kwame chuckled. "I do not think he has anything to worry about." He ran his eyes over the bruise that was slowly spreading across Gi's forehead. "Do you feel any better?"

"A little bit," she answered, though she didn't sound very convincing. "I'm really sorry, Kwame, about the geo-cruiser and how useless I've been –"

"Gi," he interrupted, "this is not your fault. And concussion does not equate to uselessness."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Kind of glad I crash-landed with you," she mumbled. "We'll be all right, huh?"

"Of course," he said, and he couldn't help but smile and feel a little warm glow in his chest as she uttered her faith in him.

"Yeah," she breathed, closing her eyes. "We've just got to wait for the others."

"They will not be long." He combed her hair back gently with his fingers. "Go back to sleep, Gi."

"You sure you can survive without my stimulating conversation?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I can last a little while longer."


	17. Peace

**PROMPT:** Peace

**WORDS:** 1898

**RATED:** G

**SUMMARY:** Wheeler's not sure why he's in such a funk over a holiday he's never been that attached to anyway.

**NOTES:** #016 in my prompt table. I'm slowly working my way through them! This is part of the _Christmas Fic Challenge_ over on CPFANFIC on livejournal. Thanks to mudget for beta'ing. All remaining errors are mine and mine only.

(Also, hello! I'm still alive. Just busy.)

* * *

The Planeteers happen to be in New York on Christmas Eve.

Wheeler didn't even know Christmas was so close – hadn't it been Thanksgiving only, like, last week?

Snow is dirty and crusted at the edges of the sidewalks. The streets are icy and there are lights and tinsel and wreaths everywhere. Even while he's working (sifting through Looten Plunder's tax records, courtesy of Linka's hacking skills), he manages to spot three poorly-dressed Santas, ringing bells and shouting _ho,__ ho,__ ho_, out into the crisp winter air.

Wheeler stares down at the street, distracted, not interested at all in the doctored tax records. The chair he's sitting in is uncomfortable, and the office is cold and quiet. Linka's fingers clacking noisily on a computer keyboard is the only sound.

Usually he'd be taking advantage of the situation: He and Linka, alone, and on Christmas Eve...

"This sucks," he says suddenly, tossing the papers onto the desk.

Linka jumps at the sudden noise.

"I can't believe we're workin' on Christmas Eve," Wheeler grumbles. He looks up at the cork-board behind Linka's head.

Looten Plunder has received two Christmas cards. They're stuck to the board with little thumb-tacks. The thought of Plunder receiving Christmas cheer makes Wheeler sick to his stomach.

Linka turns to see what he's looking at.

One of the cards has a painted dove on the front of it. Emblazoned beneath it, in gold lettering: _Peace__ and__ Goodwill._

Linka mutters the words under her breath. When she turns back to the computer screen, she looks distinctly grumpy.

Wheeler gets up and stretches before he strolls to the cork-board. He can hear Christmas carols being sung down on the street. He silently curses Plunder for having an office so central and so near to busy crowds on the street below.

He tugs the thumb-tack out and flips the card open.

"You should not be reading his Christmas cards," Linka admonishes him.

"We shouldn't be readin' his tax records, either," Wheeler reminds her.

He thinks he sees a hint of a grin on her face before she turns back to the computer.

_Looten, _

_Thought this would give you a laugh. Happy holidays._

_Babs._

"Ugh," Wheeler mutters. "It's from Blight. And they have _in __jokes._"

"Put it back, Yankee."

He stabs the card back onto the board and glares at the stupid dove, wishing stupid peace and stupid goodwill upon stupid Looten Plunder.

Stupid Christmas.

He lifts the corner on the other card (a bland painting of an evergreen in snow on the front) and sees Robin Plunder's scrawl signing the bottom.

Wheeler paces the tiny office, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. He's distracting Linka, and he knows he shouldn't, because it's important to corner Plunder in his latest illegal misdoings, but it's _Christmas __Eve_ and he's about to go crazy.

Linka sighs, hinting to him that he should sit down and be still. He crosses to the window instead, gazing down into the street. It's started to rain. Black umbrellas have gone up everywhere and people are hurrying as quickly as they dare on the ice-slickened streets.

"Got any plans for Christmas?" he asks suddenly. He turns to look at Linka.

She looks back at him in surprise. "_Nyet_," she says eventually. A slight blush rises to her cheeks. "I had not realised Christmas was so close."

"Yeah," Wheeler agrees. He leans against the window, his breath fogging the glass. It's almost too cold to rest his forehead there, but he stays in position anyway, almost revelling in the cold. Because it's _Christmas._

"Do you have any plans?" Linka asks.

"Nope. Christmas was never really a big deal at my place." He frowns, suddenly wondering why he feels so uncomfortable and so sullen if he's never really celebrated Christmas before.

"I have always enjoyed Christmas." Linka shifts uncomfortably in Plunder's desk chair. "This will be the first time I have been away from Grandmother and Mishka for the holidays."

Wheeler turns to look at her again. Her eyes are directed toward the computer screen again, but she's not concentrating. She's glazed and unfocused, her thoughts turned inwards.

"You sent 'em cards?" he asks, feeling blunt and uncomfortable. He fidgets and sinks into his chair again.

"_Da_, I have sent cards."

"Have the others mentioned Christmas to you at all?" Wheeler asks.

"Gi mentioned it several weeks ago. She was excited, but we have been so busy lately I think even she has forgotten..."

"Maybe she celebrates Christmas differently, anyway," Wheeler says. He tugs the tax papers toward him again, but can't concentrate.

The Christmas card behind Linka's blonde ponytail seems to be mocking him. _Peace __and__ Goodwill._

"We should go and meet the others," Linka says, checking her watch. "Bring those with you."

"Mm." Wheeler folds the papers untidily.

Linka's mouth presses itself into a thin line, but she doesn't say anything. She looks at him again, and her expression softens.

"You should take time to visit family, while we are here," she says. "It is Christmas, after all."

"Nope." Wheeler rejects her so flatly and so quickly, she looks taken aback. He hastens to explain. "I can't just drop in," he says. "I need to prepare myself, you know? And just 'cos it's Christmas..." He shakes his head and kicks at the desk with his foot. "I dunno," he mutters eventually. "Forget it. Just one of those days, I guess."

Linka gives him another look he can't quite decipher, but blessedly doesn't push the issue. He follows her to the elevator and they return to the roof, ducking their heads as they run through the rain to the geo-cruiser.

* * *

He hasn't even bought anyone any presents.

He feels guilty and upset, and a little disturbed that Christmas has somehow just arrived, in a whirlwind flurry of snow and tinsel and glitter.

Kwame and Ma-Ti have never celebrated Christmas. Kwame seems rather baffled by it. Ma-Ti appears interested in the traditional aspects, less so in the commercialism.

Wheeler tells him the commercialism is the best bit.

Linka sniffs at him disapprovingly, and Gi suddenly, guiltily, admits she hasn't had time to buy anyone presents.

"I haven't either," Wheeler tells her. "Don't worry about it, little mermaid."

He doesn't care about presents. Never really has – when he was a kid his mom would get him some little thing for Christmas – a pack of baseball cards or a giant bag of marbles or something like that. No big deal.

Everyone in his building was always too poor to worry about things like tinsel or lights, or even Christmas trees. (His mom had a cheap plastic tree about knee-height that she used to keep in a box under Wheeler's bed. It was a sorry excuse for the season, and by the time Wheeler was ten, she'd stopped dragging it out every year.)

Wheeler doesn't know why he's in such a funk over missing a holiday he's never really been attached to anyway.

* * *

They don't get back to Hope Island until December 28th.

Christmas Day is lost in an avalanche of office corridors, arguments and confrontations with Plunder, flashing police lights and sleepless nights.

Wheeler remembers sending a sarcastic _Merry __Christmas_ Plunder's way as he was led away in handcuffs.

He sleeps in the geo-cruiser on the way home, wondering if New Year's Eve will work out any better.

They unpack the cruiser tiredly, all of them silent. It was a successful mission, but being immersed in work and struggling to prove a case against Plunder while everyone else was so caught up in Christmas cheer has taken its toll. Even Kwame and Ma-Ti are feeling put-out as they realise they've missed the turkey dinners and the crisp scent of pine and snow; the brightly-coloured wrapping paper and the eggnog.

Wheeler doesn't even talk about it very much. On Thanksgiving he drove everyone crazy with how it all should be.

Christmas is over, and he missed it because of Plunder, damn him to hell, and he doesn't even _care_, really...

He wrinkles his brow as he heads for the Crystal Chamber. He cares about it, for sure, but he can't figure out as to why. Christmas has never been special.

He figures maybe this year is one of the first times it could have been. Maybe he's mourning a lost Christmas less than he's mourning a lost opportunity.

* * *

Linka disappears in the geo-cruiser the following day.

Wheeler figures she's gone to see her family, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

Kwame, in an effort to cheer him up, offers up a game of one-on-one basketball, but Wheeler declines, strangely preferring to wallow in his misery for a while longer.

Sometimes it's a relief to just give in to tiredness and disappointment. He doesn't do it very often.

Missing Christmas seems as good an excuse as any.

* * *

Linka comes back on New Year's Eve, setting the geo-cruiser down gently on the landing pad.

Wheeler's stretched out on the couch playing video games, shooting mutilated monsters and taking grim satisfaction in doing so.

"Wheeler..." Linka flicks the television set off disapprovingly, and Wheeler hastily hits the pause button on his controller.

"Hey!" he says indignantly. "I'm almost at the next level, what d'you think you're doing?"

She rolls her eyes. "I have a gift for you."

"Oh." Wheeler sits up in surprise, and then after a moment's thought, gets to his feet. "Uh, thanks," he says, though she hasn't handed him anything.

"I know you were upset, having to work over Christmas," Linka replies. She hands him a box she's been keeping behind her back. It's wrapped in red and a pretty gold bow sits on top. An envelope is tucked inside the ribbon.

"I haven't got you anything," Wheeler says guiltily.

She smiles. "I know."

"I can get you somethin', if you want."

She smiles and shakes her head.

"How was Russia?" Wheeler blurts. He feels he should make an effort at conversation before he opens her gift.

"It was wonderful, thank you," she says, smiling at him again. "I am glad I went. I feel like I had a Christmas, after all."

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," Wheeler mutters. He looks down at the gift in his hands and shakes it gently. "D'you want me to open the card first?"

"It is up to you."

He opens the gift first, and laughs when he sees it. It's plastic – a little twig of plastic mistletoe. He rolls the stem in his fingers and looks at her cheekily. "So I can hang this up, even though Christmas is over?"

"For the rest of the year," she says simply, checking her watch. "You have nine hours left."

"I'll make good use of 'em," he promises. He opens the card.

There's a stupid dove on the front. Emblazoned in gold letters: _Peace__ and__ Goodwill._

He laughs, and he laughs and he laughs.

Linka laughs too, and when they finally stop, she leans over and kisses him gently.

Kisses him before he's even had a chance to claim one via the mistletoe.


	18. Alter

**PROMPT:** Alter

**WORDS:** 3862

**RATED:** R

**SUMMARY:** Gi can speak French, and Wheeler digs a chick with an accent...

**NOTES:** Oh! It worked. FFN has been kind of borked lately, I hear? I decided to try this once more before I went to bed. Er... This is the dirtiest thing I've ever written, I think. I mean it's really, really smutty.

Also, my French is unbeta'd. I think it's okayyyy. But if you're fluent in French you might spot some weird mistakes.

So, there's an episode (_Jailhouse Flock_?) where Gi has to do a phony French accent to get past Rigger. And um, for some reason my mind was all, "Wheeler would totally ask her to do a French chambermaid impression when all this is over."

Annnd that's what got me here. Applause to mudget, for beta'ing! Also, thanks to mudget and frankiealton for encouraging this craziness in the first place.

If you're really curious as to what the French means, I think Google Translate would give you enough to figure it out. It's mostly really smutty stuff... Er, for some reason I found it easy to include dirty talk when it was in a foreign language.

Dedicated to anyone else who ships Wheeler/Gi like crazy, because omg they're so adorable. (Gi is pretty much adorable with anyone, but whatever...)

* * *

The late afternoon sun is hot, but the plan is almost in place. (At least, Gi thinks it is. She's still not sure what she's supposed to be doing.)

Wheeler turns to her, the sun gleaming on his hair. Sweat and dust is on his brow and he looks feverishly excited. (He always loves the way-out plans; the ones that sound like they've been dragged from some sort of Hollywood blockbuster.)

"Gi?" he asks. "How's your French?"

"_Mon fran__çais est parfait," _Gi says, smiling at him. _"Pourquoi demandez-vous?"_

He blinks at her for a minute, and then gives her a grin he usually reserves only for Linka. "Nice," he breathes. "I was just askin' for an accent..."

"Oh," Gi says, feeling slightly foolish. She smiles and shrugs. "Well, I can do that too. Why?"

"We'll need you to take care of Rigger," Wheeler says. He stares at her for another long second, before he shakes his head and blinks a couple of times, ridding himself of his daze. "Fancy playin' the stranded tourist role?"

She smiles and shrugs. "Sounds like fun."

* * *

All she has to do is convince Rigger that her car has broken down. She's swathed in a purple skirt and a jacket that's too tight under the arms. A hat with a veil masks her face. It smells like mothballs and makes it hard to see.

"_Excusez-moi,_" she calls, knocking on the door of the trailer Rigger and Greedly have been holed up in.

Rigger's strong and wiry, and pretty ruthless – but he's not very clever. One look at Gi and he's tripping over himself to help her, rushing out the door with a tyre iron and hasty promises that he's the one to get her back on track again.

She rolls her eyes and tosses the stifling veil aside before she pulls a camera out and starts taking photos. There's a bikini pin-up calendar on the wall and her skin crawls at the sight of it.

And then she remembers how awestruck Wheeler got when she spoke French earlier. She almost giggles aloud – but she has a job to do, and not much time to do it in.

Abusing Wheeler's obvious infatuation with accents can wait until later.

* * *

On the flight home, when they're all dusty and exhausted but oddly happy because they've managed to win again, Wheeler leans over in his seat to murmur quietly to Gi.

"Nice work, mademoiselle."

She smiles at him. "_Merci._"

"Next time, we'll skip the purple skirt and veil and find you a chambermaid costume."

She smacks his arm and he laughs and falls back into his seat, grinning at her before he turns back to the window and heaves a sigh, closing his eyes.

Gi can't sleep. She keeps smiling; pleased at her role in the plan that got Greedly shut down; pleased that something as ridiculous as speaking another language has earned her attention she's never really received before.

(Even if it is only from Wheeler.)

She sneaks another look at him. There are funny butterflies in her stomach and a new tightness to her skin she hasn't ever really felt before.

She turns toward the window and closes her eyes, willing sleep to come and force away the strangeness of the day.

* * *

Wheeler hasn't forgotten Gi's bilingual talents the next day. He seeks her out, his hair still pillow-flattened, a bowl of cereal in his hands, and sinks down beside her in the sand.

Her hair is still wet from her morning swim.

"So," he says, munching cornflakes. "I didn't know you spoke French."

She smiles and shrugs, towelling her hair with her fingers. "My parents moved around a lot," she says. "We lived on a boat most of the time and went wherever their work took us. French is just a convenient language to know, I guess."

"Is that why you speak English so well?" he asks, looking at her.

"I guess, yeah."

"And why you speak with an American accent?"

She blinks at him. "I do?"

He grins slowly. "Totally."

She frowns and tries to picture her own voice in her head. "I guess so," she says awkwardly. "We spent a lot of time in America."

He tilts his bowl to his mouth and drains his milk. "French is sexier," he says after a minute.

She smirks. "You have a thing for accents, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," he says defensively.

"Oh, please," Gi says, grinning at him. She gets to her feet and brushes sand away. "And that French chambermaid comment you made yesterday? I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable with how much I know about you and your _fantasies,_ Wheeler."

He laughs and kicks half-heartedly at her. "Find me a guy who _doesn't_ like French chambermaids, Gi."

She wrinkles her nose. "I don't have a uniform like that anyway," she says. "Tough luck."

He clucks his tongue and shrugs. "A guy can dream."

She laughs and walks away from him, her heart racing.

* * *

It becomes a running joke between the two of them. Wheeler starts asking her to clear away his things, "_S'il vous plaît, _chambermaid," and she swears back at him in French _and_ English.

When she needs a favour, she asks him in breathless French. _"Voulez-vous m'aider à résoudre le sous-marin?"_

His eyes always widen slightly and his jaw goes slack.

She laughs at him and beckons. "I need help fixing the eco-sub, Wheeler."

"Oh," he says, tripping after her.

* * *

When the Planeteers have a few days off, Gi takes the opportunity to clear out her bedroom. She starts bagging up piles of old clothes – things she never wears – ready to take them to a charity next time they fly the geo-cruiser out.

She finds bits and pieces from old Halloween costumes, and a wicked idea forms in her head.

It's not quite a chambermaid, but she thinks she could pull of the genre of Little French Waitress.

She waits until dark, because even practical jokes can be embarrassing, and she has no desire to show Kwame, Linka or Ma-Ti just how ridiculous the French joke between herself and Wheeler has become.

She puts on a dress that deserves capital letters in front of Little, Black and Dress, and ties a flimsy little apron around her waist. She pulls on black stockings – which she's never worn before and is unlikely to ever wear again – making sure the garters are just visible beneath the hem.

It's the best she can do, but she figures with the French accent, it'll be enough for Wheeler. He's no Rigger when it comes to this sort of disguise, but he can still get carried away – enough so it'll be fun.

She hurries along the path, praying the others are all settled for the night – and praying that Wheeler is in his hut, not sprawled in front of the television in the rec room.

She knocks quietly.

"Yeah?"

She draws in a deep breath and opens his door, stepping neatly into his hut.

The ridiculousness is worth it when he drops the book he's reading to the floor. His mouth falls open. She shuts the door quietly and smirks at him.

"_Je m'appelle Gi, et je serai votre serveuse ce soir."_

Wheeler props himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head to the side. "I hope you just made a crack about serving me something," he says.

She smiles and leans against his closed bedroom door, her arms folded behind her back.

"Say somethin' else," he demands quietly.

"Like what?" She cocks her eyebrow at him.

He grins. "Say somethin' dirty to me."

"Ah," she says, standing tall and taking a few knowing steps toward him. "_Vous aimez paler sale?"_

He's still half sitting up, watching her with wide eyes and a look on his face that can only be described as lust.

She's not sure what will happen when she reaches him. It's just a game, she thinks. She tells herself that if she takes it slow enough, things will stop at the right moment and they'll laugh about it.

"_Aimez-vous les filles vilaines?"_ she asks. She smirks, and then whispers in English, "Do you like naughty girls?"

He matches her smirk perfectly. "Is that what you are?"

She shrugs, watching him watch the way her hips move. "_Peut-être.__"_

He chuckles, and then she's right beside his bed with nowhere else to go. She stands there nervously, not sure how far to take it. (Almost) uncomfortable with the fact she doesn't seem to want to leave yet, despite how complicated this could become. (Or has already become.)

Wheeler reaches out and strokes his fingers down the smooth nylon against her thigh. "Keep goin'," he says.

She has no idea what she wants, really. She thinks being there is a mistake, but can't bring herself to say it in English. _"Je ne sais pas ce que je fai ici,_" she whispers nervously. "_C'est une erreur."_

His hand glides against her thigh. Suddenly she's not sure if it's her breathing or his that seems to be filling the silence of the room.

His fingers stroke behind her knee, and it feels only natural to follow the downward movement of his hand and sink gently down beside him.

He meets her halfway, and kissing him doesn't feel as awkward as she had predicted it would.

The French, and the costume, and the _game_ of it all – it's just enough to alter reality. Just enough to make things seem not quite real. Just enough to make it all right.

"Keep talkin'," Wheeler whispers

"_Mettez votre langue dans ma bouche,"_ she says. She kisses him again and this time opens her mouth. His tongue slides over her lower lip and shivers race down her spine.

His hands slide over her. He's almost too eager, and she wonders exactly how often he's been thinking about this and how far the fantasy has developed inside his own head.

(She tells herself she hasn't been thinking about it at all; that this is a moment of impulse and not anything _she_ has actually fantasised about.)

"Where did you get this costume?" he asks, curling his fingers beneath the tops of her stockings.

She closes her eyes when his mouth presses warm and open against her pulse. "It's just a black dress and a flimsy little apron, Wheeler. I wouldn't call it a costume."

"Works for me," he murmurs. He pulls at the garter straps holding her stockings up and she knows they're going to be ripped and useless by the time he's done, but she doesn't care.

"Keep talkin', mademoiselle," he whispers.

"_Dépêche_," she gasps. "_Déshabillez-moi."_

She wants to be naked. She feels feverishly hot, like her blood is running just barely beneath the surface of her skin, warming every inch of her. She wants the waitress costume – such as it is – gone.

(She does not, however, want to be more Gi than French seductress – just in case it leads to ideas of intimacy, rather than impulse. Which, she reminds herself again, is all this is.)

She's not sure if Wheeler is thinking the same sort of thing, or if he's just really eager to have a naked woman in his bed. (Probably the latter.)

In his haste, he pops two of her buttons and they fly to the floor. He peels her dress open and strokes his hands over her stomach, brushing the bare swells of her breasts with his thumbs.

"Mademoiselle," he says huskily, his mouth against the dip of her throat, "you're not wearing much under your apron."

_The less clothing for you to destroy, the better_, she thinks. _"Touchez-moi,_" she says. She takes his hand and positions it over her breast, splaying his fingers against her skin, which burns in the cool air of his bedroom. _"Utilisez votre bouche."_

She sucks against the fingers of his other hand and arches up toward his mouth. His lips close over her nipple and she grazes her teeth against the pad of his thumb with a soft whimper of approval.

He stops just long enough to strip his t-shirt over his head, before he lowers his mouth to her again, his fingers gliding against her skin. He fumbles again with her stockings.

"_Arrêter," _she says, taking his hand. She shoves against his shoulder and rolls him over.

He doesn't fight. He grabs her hips and pulls her forward, leaning upward to kiss her again.

She unsnaps her suspenders and pushes her stockings down to her knees. Her legs are clamped against Wheeler's sides and she's sitting just over his hips.

He reaches down and strokes the sole of her foot through the thin mesh of her stockings and she shivers. Then he sits up and kisses her again, one hand cupping her face, his other arm winding around her to hold her against him.

She lets him shape her and shift her, following his gentle prodding and stroking and pulling until she finds herself pressed right up against him, her fingers twined in his hair and his mouth hot against hers.

"You're good at this," she whispers, without thinking about it.

"You've got your languages, I've got mine," he murmurs back, not missing a beat.

She laughs and kisses him again, rolling her hips slowly against him.

"_Ja veux ta bite,_" she whispers, pressing her mouth against his neck. "_Ja veux ta bite..._"

"Gi," he says, his fingers curling against her skin, "how far... I mean..."

"Just keep going," she says, her eyes closed. She rocks her hips again. "Don't stop."

"Keep talkin', then," he says, nuzzling against her neck. His hips move slowly beneath hers.

"_Je veux que vous me baiser la chatte,"_ she whispers, tightening her fingers in his hair. She tugs gently, directing his mouth down her neck to her shoulder, and then tugs again, urging him down.

He grins. "Oh." He curls his tongue, leaving a wet trail down her body that causes her skin to tighten.

He tugs her apron off and finishes opening her dress, his fingers fumbling with the buttons down the front.

She shrugs out of it impatiently and tosses it to the floor, before she arches up on her knees and rids herself of the suspender belt.

Wheeler grabs her hips before she moves to peel her stockings the rest of the way off.

"You want them left on?" she asks breathlessly, grinning down at him.

"Only fair to leave you with _some_ modesty," he says, grinning at her. "Considerin' they're all you've got left."

She shrugs. "What can I say? I wanted to make it easy for you."

"Sure you didn't want to make it hard?"

She laughs and pushes against his shoulders, forcing him back against the bed. _"Arrêtez de parler,"_ she says. "_Je veux que vous utilisez votre langue sur ma chatte."_

Wheeler's hands tighten on her hips. "I'll do whatever the fuck you want," he whispers. "Just keep talkin' like that."

She kisses him again before she wriggles her hips toward him. He slides down the bed, kicking his jeans off and squirming his body down underneath hers until her thighs are against the sides of his face.

She lifts her hips in anticipation. She can feel his breath against the smooth skin of her thighs. He nudges her knees further apart, spreading her legs. He takes hold of her hips again and guides her into position above his mouth.

"Fuck," she gasps.

He flicks his tongue. "That ain't French."

His breath is hot against her. Her thighs tremble. She reaches up, desperate to grab hold of something and grip it, her body tense and quivering. She finds nothing, so clenches one hand in his hair instead, the other in her own, her head back, eyes closed.

"Fuck," she says again, her hips jerking.

Wheelers hands tighten on her hips, holding her down against him, pulling her weight toward him.

"_Fuck,_ oh God," Gi sobs.

Gi's not really a stranger to sex (though her experiences have been limited, and often nerve-wracking, guilt-inducing or rushed – or all three), but she hasn't experienced _this._

Suddenly she can see all those moments of, "I'll just walk her home," or, "We were just in the other room talkin'," that Wheeler so often seamlessly explains away have all been utter shit.

She's definitely underestimated his activities over the years, and she's never been so glad of something in all her life.

She thinks she actually hurts him when she comes – her fist tightens in his hair and she thrusts hard against him. _"Oh,_" she gasps. "_Mon dieu, mon dieu. Ne vous arrêtez pas."_

She's still panting and her hips are still moving slowly when Wheeler shifts beneath her, rolling her over, trailing his mouth up over her stomach to close over her breast. His fingers press slowly between her legs and her body jolts again.

"Fuck," she whimpers. "Wheeler..."

"Gi," he pants, "tell me if you want me to stop."

"_Non,_" she gasps, _"non, n'arrêtez pas."_

She doesn't know why she's still clinging to the French maid – waitress, whatever – thing. This has definitely gone beyond fantasy into heart-racing reality. This is no longer an alter-ego, but Gi herself, in bed with Wheeler, loving every fucking minute of it.

She hasn't even thought about condoms, but she's relieved to see he has one. Wheeler knocks over his lamp as he rummages through the drawer in his bedside table.

He buries his face against her neck and grazes his teeth gently against her humming pulse. "Ready, mademoiselle?" he asks softly.

"Uh-huh," she whispers. _"Oui, __monsieur.__"_

He grins against her skin. "This ain't gonna last long."

She laughs, and moves her hips under him.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers in her ear.

"_Je veux ta bite dans ma chatte,"_ she breathes. She closes her eyes as he moves her leg around his waist and slowly pushes into her.

Her breath expels hard against his shoulder. _"Je veux que vous pour aller vite."_

"More," he whispers. He presses a kiss against her mouth and a new jolt races through her. He's starting to shift things toward intimacy, and for some reason it's making Gi's heart race anew.

"Tell me how it feels," he says, thrusting against her slowly.

"_Il se sent si bien,"_ she whispers. "_Vous me combler."_

"More," he urges. He starts thrusting faster, and the bed shifts back and forth beneath them; with them.

Gi's breath hitches in her throat. _"On se sent bien," _she gasps. "Fuck."

He laughs and kisses her again, stopping for a moment to cup his hand behind her knee and urge her legs further apart. His hand slides against her nylon stockings, which are still clinging to her legs, crumpled above her knees and at the ankles.

"I wish I'd known you spoke French sooner," he whispers, his breath heavy and damp against her skin.

"Mm," Gi agreed, curling her legs around his waist again. He presses them open again and shifts her hips.

She gasps and arches her back. "Fuck."

He grins and presses another quick kiss against her throat. "More," he urges. "Talk dirty to me, _mademoiselle._ Tell me what a dirty girl you are..."

He's started thrusting faster again; deeper, and Gi's clenching her fists into the bedsheets in an effort to anchor herself. She's sweating and her body is quivering and she can feel she's going to come again, even if this one might be too much; might hurt.

"_Je suis une fille sale,_" she whispers. _"Je suis une putain. Est-ce ce que vous aimez?"_

"God, Gi," Wheeler groans. "Tell me you're close."

"_Oui,_" she gasps. "I am, I am – but I've already – once... just..."

His fingers tighten on her hips and he holds her in place before he starts thrusting faster. Harder.

"Oh my God," she whispers. "Oh my God, oh my God..."

When she comes this time, her whole body stiffens. Her heels slide against the bedsheets, her stockings crumple and wrinkle against her glowing skin.

Wheeler comes a few seconds later, his breath hot against her ear, a soft, low-breathed sound humming against her skin.

"Fuck, Gi," he says, still moving slowly against her. "Fuck."

"Yeah," she breathes. She uncoils beneath him, her body going soft.

He rolls off her after a few long moments.

The air feels cold on Gi's sweat-glowing skin without him close to her. And, worryingly, she is starting to feel more like herself again now. Less like a French seductress. And she wonders what that's going to mean.

Wheeler rolls back after a minute, still breathing heavily. He drapes his arm over her stomach. _"Très bien, mademoiselle,"_ he murmurs.

She laughs tiredly. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah." He traces the tops of her stockings. "Where'd you learn all that?"

"Me?" She laughs incredulously and looks at him. "I did nothing but speak French. You did the rest."

"Speaking French was enough." He gives her a wicked grin, which makes her stomach flip over.

"Where'd you learn?" she asks, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I had a girlfriend before I came to the Planeteers," he says, slipping his hand inside her stocking to stroke the back of her knee. He closes his eyes. "We never went to school. We just fucked a lot."

"Charming," Gi says.

He chuckles. "And there have been girls here and there. To help me stay sharp, you know..."

"Sure." She watches him for a moment. He still seems totally at ease, which helps her relax a little.

"You okay?" he asks drowsily.

"This wasn't a mistake, was it?" she asks worriedly.

"Hell no," Wheeler says, his fingers curling behind her knee. He presses a kiss against her shoulder. "Best damn waitress I ever had."

She laughs, but nudges him. "You know what I –"

"Don't over-analyse it, Gi," he says tiredly. "Just go to sleep, okay? For a while." He tugs her stocking up her thigh a little.

"For a while?"

His breath whispers hot in her ear. "I'm gonna have you put that little apron back on later."

"Ah," Gi says, smiling slowly. "_Très bien_."


	19. Pray

**PROMPT:** Pray

**WORDS:** 535

**RATED:** G

**SUMMARY:** It doesn't make a difference.

**NOTES:** Unbeta'd. Written very hastily for the back-story challenge over on cpfanfic on livejournal, which ends tomorrow. :p I have no idea where it came from - or why Linka is the one I wrote about. Whenever I thought about this challenge, I pictured Wheeler, or one of the villains. Turns out Linka was the one who kicked me into getting something done, though! Bless her heart.

* * *

Six-year-old Linka kneels beside her bed, trembling in the cold, hands clasped together tightly.

She whispers hastily, cold and tired. The wind roars around the house. The candle by the bed gutters in the path of a ghostly breath of air from beneath the door.

_Bless Mama, and Papa, bless Grandmother and Mishka. _

When her mother dies, Linka thinks it's because she hasn't prayed hard enough.

* * *

Linka stands behind the church, her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, which feels too small across the shoulders and under the arms.

"_America_," ten-year-old Boris says. His eyes glitter with the cold and with excitement. "Can you imagine it, Linka? I could become a movie star!"

Linka scoffs, jealous and hurt. Boris is her best friend now that Mishka is too _old_ to play her games. And now he's leaving.

"I will write to you every day," Boris promises solemnly.

"You can't spell," Linka says crossly. "How will I be able to read anything you send?"

Boris stomps home in a bad temper, and Linka kicks the side of the church wall, hard.

She figures maybe praying will keep Boris around.

She goes inside and lights a candle for her mother, before she sends a quick, pleading thought to God.

_Please don't take Boris from me. I'll be so lonely._

Boris and Uncle Dimitri leave for America, and another loss, another scar, threads itself through Linka's heart.

* * *

_Dampf._

Linka has always feared the damp. Sometimes she can smell it on her Papa's coat when he comes home. It sends shivers down her spine. She pictures it as a thing, like a blanket moving through the mine, clamping to the men's faces and dragging them into shadow and death.

Sometimes it smells. Sometimes it doesn't.

She prays for Papa.

_Please, do not give him sickness. Please, take care of him in the mine. _

She goes to church with him, and Mishka and Grandmother. She clenches her jaw when she prays, so determined is she that her willing, her prayer, will make a difference.

Papa dies when the _dampf_ explodes.

* * *

Linka cries, and begs Mishka not to take their father's place.

"It is _dangerous_," she sobs. "I'll work too. I'll get a job in the town square, in one of the shops, Mishka. You won't have to work in the mine."

He says she has to finish school.

School is a joke. She's already so far ahead of the other children her teacher merely lets her read what she wants.

She stops going to school, but she's still too busy to find a job.

Grandmother needs help at home.

* * *

When Grandmother falls ill during the winter Linka turns fourteen, Linka makes a conscious effort not to pray. Her anger at God is threaded through her.

Part of her fears him. Part of her thinks that rejecting her faith will result in consequences beyond being abandoned – due to America, or death.

When Grandmother recovers, and when she is strong again, Linka promises herself she will remain true to herself, first and foremost. True to her mind, to logic and reasoning.

She goes to bed without prayer.


	20. Love

**PROMPT:** Love

**WORDS:** 1692

**RATED:** PG

**SUMMARY:** "I should not have kissed you at all," she says. "It only encourages you."

**NOTES:** And with this fic, I am officially 1/5th of the way through my prompt table! Eep, still 80 prompts left to write! It'll take me years...

Not sure where this came from. I wanted to write something for the challenge currently on the forum here, but this came out instead! Thank you dearly, **mudget**, for your beta help!

* * *

Linka has a paper crown perched on her head. Her cheeks are flushed a pleasant pink and her hair is coming loose from her ponytail.

"You have got me drunk," she accuses Wheeler.

He grins easily. "It's the only way to celebrate your twenty-first birthday," he says. He can feel the warmth of alcohol too, but he hasn't had as much to drink as Linka. "You're Russian, anyway," he says dismissively. "You should be able to handle your drink."

"That is such a stereotype," Linka says crossly.

He thinks it's impressive she's not slurring at all, though she's definitely leaning a little sideways in her chair.

"Think I should get you a glass of water," Wheeler says. He finds her intoxication amusing, but he's smart enough to know that he'll pay for it in the morning if she wakes up hungover.

"Thank you for your gift," Linka says, a little self-consciously. She touches the silver chain at her throat.

Wheeler sets a tall glass of water in front of her. "You're welcome," he says. (He restrains a smug grin. He's completely over-the-moon that she loves it so much; her hand keeps straying to touch the tiny _L_ hanging from the chain.)

"You know," he says, watching her close her eyes as she gulps from the glass, "we became Planeteers, like, two weeks before your sixteenth birthday."

"Yes, I _know,_" Linka says, slightly breathless. She tilts her head and smiles at him. "I think we had a mission in Africa."

"Plunder, and ivory," Wheeler says, remembering. "I considered getting you an ivory necklace."

"You did _not_," she says, her eyes widening. She looks like she doesn't quite believe him, but it's true.

"Kwame just about kicked my ass when I mentioned the idea," Wheeler says.

She laughs, sliding away from him a little, her arms braced on the kitchen table. She rests her head down and smiles at him. "I like this necklace much better," she says. "Thank you, Yankee."

He grabs her empty glass, intent on getting her another. "You're welcome."

Linka watches him. The crown has toppled forward a little, resting against the very top of her forehead, casting a shadow down over her eyes. "Twenty one does not feel so different to twenty," she says.

"But now you can drink legally," he says, grinning at her.

She smirks. "In Russia, there is no law regarding drinking ages."

Wheeler snorts. "Right."

"It is the truth." Her lips curve up and she looks as smug as he had felt a couple of minutes before. "Why do you think we are all so good at drinking? I have been in training for twenty-one years already."

Wheeler laughs and sinks down into the chair beside her, skating another glass of water over to her. "I thought that was a stereotype."

She accepts the glass with a sigh. "It is." She rubs her face and pushes the crown back so it sits upright on her head again. "I have had too much."

"Only way to celebrate," Wheeler says.

She shakes her head, but she's smiling. "I have had fun," she says, leaning back in her chair. "It has been a good birthday."

She touches the little silver _L_ at her throat again, and Wheeler's chest warms.

She drinks the second glass of water more slowly than the first.

"Tell you what," Wheeler says after a moment, "I'm surprised Gi went to bed so early. She can usually out-party me."

Linka laughs. "She is tired. It has been a long week."

"Not that I mind that they all piked out early," he says, leaning forward and pulling the crown gently off her head. "Gives me some alone time with the birthday girl."

"_Bozhe moy_," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at him slightly.

He smirks and leans forward. "Birthday kiss?"

"I gave you a birthday kiss on _your_ birthday," she says. She hasn't pulled away.

"Well, this time you get to be on the receivin' end," he says.

She's smiling when he kisses her. He traces the smooth, warm swell of her cheek with his thumb, and lets his fingers come to rest at the base of her throat, near the charm he bought her with money he saved for months beforehand. (Being a Planeteer comes with a lot of benefits, but cash isn't necessarily one of them.)

She tastes like the sweet, syrupy drinks Gi was mixing earlier. When they break apart, she breathes out slowly, her lashes fluttering.

"Happy birthday, babe," Wheeler whispers.

"Mm," she says. "You are very good at giving presents, Yankee."

"Maybe I'm startin' to figure you out," he says, grinning at her.

She smiles back at him and shakes her head only slightly. "Maybe a little," she admits. She rubs her eyes. "I am tired. I think I need to go to bed."

"That's probably a good idea," he says. "Keep a glass of water beside you, okay?"

She gives a rueful laugh and gets to her feet, still leaning on the table. "_Da_, that is probably a good idea."

Wheeler wraps an arm around her waist and walks with her toward the door.

It has rained. Hope Island is humid and thick with the scent of the jungle. Linka leans against Wheeler's shoulder as they walk toward the path into the trees.

"How did you get me so drunk?" she asks, holding her hand to her head.

"I think that was mostly Gi's fault, not mine," Wheeler says. "But I'll take the fall if you give me another kiss."

"Oh," Linka sighs. "I am not sure that is such a good idea."

"Come on," he says, grinning at her in the moonlight. "It's not every day you turn twenty one. Live a little."

She laughs and turns to face him, scrutinising him with her eyes half-closed. "By kissing you?"

"You seem to enjoy it." He slides his hands around her waist.

"Not half as much as you do, apparently." But she lifts her mouth to his and kisses him again, slow and deep.

"You know," Wheeler says, pulling her in close, hands on her hips, "if you weren't drunk, I'd be suggestin' we take this back inside."

"But you are withholding because...?"

"Just seems like takin' advantage," he says. "Curse my sense of decency."

She laughs and pushes him away. "I should not have kissed you at all," she says. "It only encourages you."

"Hey," he says, taking her hand. "One day you'll realise I'm the only guy you'll _ever_ want to kiss."

"Well, when you can commit to one girl, perhaps," she retorts. The smile is still on her face, but her words are serious.

"Gotta sow my oats while I'm still young and good-lookin'," he says defensively.

She tuts and pulls her hand free. "I am going to bed."

"I can commit," he says, following her. "I'd commit for a girl like you."

"Give it a rest, Yankee. I am tired."

He takes her hand again and pulls her to a halt, just outside the door of her hut. "Don't believe me, huh?"

She sighs and looks at him. The night is darker here, within the cloaked shadows of the jungle. "We met a little over six years ago, Wheeler," she says. "Are you still so intent on chasing me?"

"I'm not chasin' you," Wheeler says. "You slowed down a _long_ way back. It's hardly a chase when I caught up so long ago."

"Do not flatter yourself too much," Linka says, smiling at him. "I am not _that_ drunk."

He takes another chance to kiss her again, pushing her up against her door. He has kissed her quite a lot over the past six years, but he can still remember each and every time; can still remember what good fortune or flirtatious smile caused her reluctance to crumble and let him in.

She pushes him away after a moment, slowly extending her arms, her palms flat against his shoulders. "Goodnight," she says firmly.

"I meant it," he blurts, still a little dazed from all this contact with her, from the taste of sugar and alcohol in her mouth. "Just 'cause I flirt with others girls don't mean I wouldn't stop all that for the right girl."

She smiles again and shakes her head. "You are a flirt," she says. "That is who you are."

He starts to feel annoyed that she has dismissed him so readily. Again.

"You know why we'd be good together?" he asks.

"I have no idea," she says, folding her arms. She's sounding completely sober now, and Wheeler figures there's a good chance he could steer the whole evening into shit by starting an argument. He presses on anyway.

"'Cause we're so similar," he says. "You and me."

"We are not," she says irritably. "We have been through this before."

"Probably," he says. "We're both stubborn as hell and –"

"And that is about it," she finishes for him.

"I was gonna say we're both smokin' hot," he says.

"_Bozhe moy._"

He laughs and steps close, kissing her cheek, nuzzling his nose against the side of her face. "I'm a better person with you," he murmurs. "I like the kind of guy I could be with you."

"I do not want you to change," she says. She leans her forehead against his shoulder. "I love you just the way you are, Wheeler..." Her fingers curl against the material of his t-shirt. "But," she sighs tiredly, "we are not a good match." She pushes him away and opens her door. "Goodnight," she says.

Wheeler steps back. "Goodnight, Linka."

When he sees her touch the little _L_ at her throat, just before the door closes, he knows the story isn't finished.

But there sure seems to be a hell of a lot of chapters in this book, and a lot of them are starting to read the same.

He sighs and moves away up the path, toward his own hut.

He supposes love is just complicated, and sometimes it takes a while for it to move from the love between two friends to the love which, he figures, he and Linka are destined for.


	21. Kill

**Title/Prompt:** Kill  
**Rating/Warnings:** R; violence, murder, character death.  
**Word count:** 5417  
**Summary:** Linka has left Blight with nothing to lose. Blight intends on leaving Linka in the same position.

******Notes: **Unbeta'd. Apparently this is how I spend my Saturdays now? Writing horrific Cap fic :p IDK. I have no idea where this came from, but I have just read _The Hunger Games_, so I guess I'll blame that for the subject matter. Please pay attention to the above warnings! This is possibly part of a multi-series, but IDK. I'll label each appropriate chapter if I ever revisit this 'verse.

This is set after a really early Blight episode, the name of which currently escapes me. Remember Linka programming MAL so he was "friendly" again, rather than Blight's creation? This is set shortly after that. The Planeteers haven't been together very long in this fic.

* * *

Bad things are going to happen.

Kwame knows, as soon as he wakes, that bad things are going to happen. It's more than the throbbing in his head and the sharp taste in his dry mouth. It's in the way his flesh has tightened and it's in the metallic feel of the air in his lungs.

He sits up, looking around immediately for his friends. He and Linka appear to be the only ones there, and he can remember now; can remember lunging for her as the metal claw fell from the sky and snapped around her, hauling her up to Blight's aircraft.

He checks the bruising on his arm, but the claw hasn't seemed to have done much other damage. He can't remember how he came to be unconscious, or why there is such a horrible taste in his mouth, but he decides to focus on one problem at a time.

Linka is out cold. He leans over her and pats her cheek gently, whispering urgently that she needs to wake up, but she doesn't stir.

He sits beside her and takes a look around. The room is cold and bare, white and well-lit. One wall is glass, like a huge, square window, but a curtain is drawn across the other side and Kwame can't see beyond it.

There is only one door, and when he tries it, it leads into a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and a shower-head above a drain in the tile floor.

He thinks to check his finger, and his ring is gone.

He presses his mouth into a thin line and leans against the cold wall beside Linka's slumped body. He checks her breathing and keeps one hand just below her shoulder, so he can feel her warmth and be reassured that her chest is still rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

No sound can be heard but her breathing. Nobody comes for them. No voices call out or float through the air on golden beams of Heart.

Blight does not make an appearance, though Kwame knows she must be there somewhere.

Bad things are going to happen.

* * *

It takes much longer for Linka to wake. Kwame sits silently beside her, worried about what Blight has done.

When he concentrates, he can vaguely remember Blight leaning over him, furious, a syringe in her clenched fist.

He checks his arms but he can't see or feel where she may have injected him with anything.

He leans over Linka when she stirs. "Linka?"

She mumbles something soft and incoherent – maybe something in Russian, he can't be sure. He thinks she probably got a bigger dose of whatever drug Blight had in her hand.

He helps her sit up, but she sags against him, blinking in the bright white light of the room.

"Where are we?" she asks. She rubs a hand over her face and shivers.

"I am not sure," Kwame admits. His voice has a strange echo in here. It puts him on edge.

"Where are the others?" Linka checks for her ring, and her hands fall to her lap when she discovers it gone.

"I am not sure of that, either."

Linka tries to sit up, but sags back against the wall again. Kwame puts a steadying hand on her arm. "Are you all right?"

"Just light-headed." She frowns.

Kwame gets to his feet and paces the room.

"Is the door locked?" Linka asks.

Kwame swings it open, revealing the tiny bathroom. "No."

He looks around again, but that door appears to be the only way in or out of the little box he and Linka are in. He can reach up and touch the ceiling easily, but it feels as though it's made of smooth, glossy stone, rather than any sort of plaster or render. It offers no give – only resistance.

"Is it Blight?" Linka asks. "I do not remember."

"I think so," Kwame says. But then he admits, "I do not remember much either."

Linka watches him carefully for a moment. "How is your arm?"

He sits beside her again. "A little bruised. But I am all right."

Linka glances at him again, and then to the floor. "Thank you for trying to pull me back down," she says. "You should not have done that."

"I had to try something," Kwame says in surprise. "The others were all ahead of us. That thing dropped from the sky right on top of you."

Linka pulls her knees up to her chest. "I am sure she was only aiming for me," she says.

Kwame thinks so too. "Because of what you did to her computer?" he asks.

Linka rests her cheek against her knee and looks at him. "_Da_, I think so," she agrees. "I have never seen a program that advanced before."

"But you were able to destroy it," Kwame said.

"Not destroy," Linka says, sounding surprised. "I did not want to destroy him. He was a work of art." Worry lines crease her brow. "I just changed him into something nicer. Something friendly."

"Perhaps that was worse," Kwame says, sure Blight hated whatever Linka did to her precious computer program. To MAL.

They sit in silence for a while, waiting. There are no sounds, and the air in the room is cold. The curtain hangs heavy and still on the other side of the glass, and Kwame can feel a tight, hot knot of worry and apprehension in his stomach whenever he looks at it.

Linka gets to her feet, shakily, and heads for the bathroom, where she splashes cold water on her face and sips from the faucet. "Are you hurt?" she asks after a moment. "Did she drug you, too?"

"I am all right," Kwame assures her. "I felt a little sick after waking up, but I am fine now. It wears off."

"I hope so," Linka says, sinking down beside him again. Her hair is damp around her face. After a moment, she leans against Kwame's arm closes her eyes.

He's worried about her reaction to the drug. He still has an odd taste in his mouth, but the dizziness has worn off. Linka looks pale and shaky.

Kwame knows he's not supposed to be here. Whatever Blight has planned, it is meant for Linka only. He is just an inconvenient extra.

* * *

Kwame thinks Linka is growing irritated with his questions, but his own anxiety won't rest unless she answers them convincingly.

"Are you still dizzy?" he asks.

"It is wearing off," she insists. "I am feeling better. My head is not spinning so much now."

He watches her face carefully. She does seem to have some colour back in her skin, and her eyes are able to focus again.

Part of his anxiety is coming from waiting. Blight has not made an appearance, and it's setting Kwame's nerves on edge.

"What do you think she wants?" he asks Linka.

"Revenge."

She doesn't seem nearly as scared as he feels. His experiences as a Planeteer so far have been dangerous, and he and his friends have escaped death by the narrowest of margins several times already.

He is not used to this sort of danger. Not this immediacy, this _action._ The biggest threats in Kwame's life so far have been things like disease, famine, and thirst. All of which are much slower than the villains he is becoming increasingly familiar with.

He feels ill-prepared for dealing with things like abduction, drugs, and computer programs. He is ill-prepared to deal with things like revenge, the concept of which still seems utterly alien to him.

"I do not understand the way her mind works," he admits in a low voice. "Blight."

Linka curls into herself again, drawing her legs up and hugging her knees. "I do not understand her, either," she says. "She is very unpredictable."

"That makes her dangerous."

Linka nods in agreement.

Talking seems to be the best way to distract himself from having no real answers. "Where did you learn to use a computer?" he asks.

Before the Planeteers, he had no concept of such technology. He had heard things about what the world was like outside his little village, but he'd had other things to focus on. Medicine. Food. Water. Fuel.

"My uncle worked for the government," Linka says. "He was rich. He had computers. My cousin Boris and I – we used to..." She frowns, and her voice falters for a moment. "They live in America now."

Kwame has never had the impression that Linka has come from a background with money. He has recognised the same hardness in her eyes that he has – that even Wheeler has, occasionally. The same sense of struggle and loss; the scars of survival and hardship.

He can only imagine how hard it would be to have a relative with excess, only to have them move away and leave you with your own poverty. Her life must have changed at that moment, and not for the better.

He suddenly understands Linka a little more. He sees exactly why she's so careful to keep distance between herself and others, even if she manages to do so in a playful sort of way.

Sometimes it's better, relying on only yourself. Even if it does mean you're lonely.

* * *

Blight's appearance is almost anti-climatic. She steps between the glass and the curtain, wearing a pink jumpsuit and a cold expression.

Kwame and Linka both get to their feet.

"Comfortable?" Blight asks. Her voice is thin and slightly distorted through the glass.

"Your hospitality could use some work," Linka says irritably.

Kwame has to admire her in moments like this. Her humour is as sharp as her fury.

Blight glances to him. "You weren't invited," she says.

He shrugs, not sure what to say. He likes a bad joke as much as anyone, but uttering one now seems impossible. He tightens his fist, feeling the muscles in his bruised arm move with protest.

"Never mind," Blight says, dismissing him easily. "A guest won't matter." She narrows her one good, visible eye at Linka. "But this party is for you, blondie."

"I am honoured," Linka says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Blight seems mildly amused by Linka's bravery. "What you did to MAL," she says. "That was unforgivable."

"What _you_ did to him was unforgivable," Linka shoots back. "You turned him into something malicious."

"I did not turn him into anything," Blight snaps. Her eye glitters dangerously. "He was mine. Built from the ground up. And you destroyed my years – my lifetime – of work in a measly few minutes."

Linka merely folds her arms across her chest and matches Blight's glare.

Kwame's heart is beating heavily. His palms are slick with sweat and that feeling of terrible apprehension his upon him again.

_Bad things are going to happen._

"What do you want?" he asks suddenly, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the small, shiny room. "Our friends are looking for us, and when they –"

Blight waves her hand, apparently unconcerned. "They'll find you," she says. "Eventually. But that's all right. I only need a few minutes."

She traces a gloved finger lightly over the glass. "MAL was the most precious thing in my life," she says. "My creation. My friend. My confidante. And you destroyed him in one fell swoop." She fixes a burning stare on Linka. "You will pay."

"I'm not afraid of you," Linka says, her fists clenched at her sides.

"You should be," Blight says. "You left me with nothing to lose." She steps back and seizes the edge of the curtain in her fingers. "How would you feel, I wonder, if someone took away the most precious thing in your life?"

Kwame glances to Linka, nervously, just in time to see her bravado falter a little.

Blight paces alongside the window, drawing the curtain back.

Linka lets out a gasp of horror and springs forward, palms against the glass, her breath fogging on its surface. "Mishka!" she shrieks.

The man on the opposite side of the glass lifts his head at the sound of her voice, though he still looks sluggish. His blond hair is a couple of shades darker than Linka's, but there is no mistaking the resemblance. Kwame knows he's looking at Linka's brother, and the realisation sends a new chill down his spine.

"Let him go!" Linka demands, and the panic in her voice is obvious. She cries out to her brother again. "Mishka!"

He seems disoriented and slow, but he says something in Russian that has a sense of urgency and fear to it.

Linka answers him in kind, her face white, hands flat against the glass.

Kwame doesn't know what to do. He doesn't think there is anything he _can_ do. And he doesn't know what Blight is truly capable of doing.

His gut instinct is that she has no limit, and that frightens him more than anything.

Linka tracks back and forth in front of the glass like a caged animal, her hands leaving sweat-prints and streaks. "Let him go!" she says to Blight. "Please let him go."

Blight doesn't answer her.

Linka and Kwame both watch helplessly as Mishka is hung from his wrists in the middle of the room. The toes of his boots, still caked with mud, graze the shiny white floor.

Linka's face is pale and tear-streaked, and Kwame can hear her breath, sharp and panicked. She cries out in Russian, hammering her fists hard against the glass, which doesn't even rattle under her assault.

"Do not hurt him!" she screams, her breath fogging. She steps aside again to see through a clear part of the glass, her eyes wide and rimmed with tears. "Please, I will do anything. I will do anything, just do not hurt him!"

Kwame feels as though he should be adding his pleas to Linka's, but his throat has frozen up. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what is going to happen, but he knows it will be bad. He steps forward, his muscles tense and heavy, and slams a hard kick into the glass.

He feels the impact recoil up his leg, but he grits his teeth and does it again.

Linka hastens to join him, her breath hiccuping and stuttering with the effort, with her tears and her fright.

Blight only looks amused.

The glass will not give. Kwame realises it must be thick, or reinforced, or both. His leg hurts and the glass hasn't even moved within its fixtures.

Linka doesn't stop. She kicks and hammers on the glass desperately, sobbing. "Let him go!" she screams at Blight. "Do not hurt him! Let him go!"

"Our friends will be here any moment!" Kwame blurts. "Do not do anything rash, Dr. Blight."

Blight only laughs at him. She opens the switch-blade knife in her hands and Linka screams again.

Her pleading is entirely in Russian now. Sometimes Mishka answers her, his voice calmer, stronger, but his face just as pale as hers.

Kwame knows, seconds before it happens, that he is about to see a man die. He tries to grab Linka, to shield her from it, but she darts away from him, her breath sobbing out of her, tears streaming down her face.

Blight slits Mishka's throat wide. She is sprayed crimson with blood.

Linka screams so loudly her voice ruptures. She sinks to her knees, croaking, sobbing, her hands curling to fists against the cold glass.

Mishka twitches against the ropes holding him up. His boots kick and slide on the floor and his mouth opens and closes desperately before he stills, blood still spilling down the front of his shirt onto the floor.

Kwame grabs Linka and drags her back to the far wall, but there is no curtain to shield Mishka's body from view. He is still swinging from the ropes and the pool of blood at his feet seems impossibly large and dark.

"Linka," Kwame whispers. Bile is at the back of his throat.

Linka is unable to hold it back. She vomits helplessly onto the floor, sobbing and groaning. "Mishka," she wails. "Mishka..."

Kwame pulls her into the corner and wraps his arms tightly around her, holding one hand against her head so her face is pressed into his shoulder.

She struggles for a moment, but then collapses against him, sobbing, her hands shaking violently.

He holds onto her tightly, staring back at Mishka's bloody body in horror.

* * *

Hours and hours pass, but it does not grow dark. The lights are unrelenting. Mishka's body hangs still and white in the next room. The blood on the floor has thickened and darkened. It has dried to a deep brown down the front of Mishka's shirt.

Blight's boot prints are blood smudges to a door in the wall. She has not returned.

Kwame has attempted to clean up the pool of vomit in the small room he and Linka share, using rolls of toilet paper, the shower and the drain. There are no towels or blankets, and he's getting stiff and cold from sitting in the bare, hard room for so long.

Linka's eyes are wide, and have not strayed from Mishka's body since she finally pulled herself out of Kwame's arms. She sits with her legs out in front of her, her hands in her lap, and she stares at her dead brother silently.

Now and then she twitches or shudders from the remnants of a sob, too exhausted or too deep in shock to truly let it out.

Kwame has searched relentlessly for a way out of the room, but he can't find one. He's unsure how Blight got them _in_ there. He feels hungry, tired and shaky. His stomach is rolling with panic and what he supposes is grief.

He sinks down beside Linka again, not sure what to say.

When he was young – six summers old, perhaps – Kwame's father died on a hunting trip for the village. He had not understood at first, though death was by no means unknown to him at that age. But his father had been so strong, so well-liked and so kind, Kwame had always thought him untouchable.

And he was, when it came to the things that struck so many others down. He always brought food home, he knew where to find firewood, how to track animals to water. But there were some things that just couldn't be prevented or avoided, and accidental deaths were not uncommon on hunting trips.

When Kwame had finally realised he had lost his father to the great void of death and unknown, he had been inconsolable. His mother had pulled her into her arms and wrapped them both in blankets which still smelled of his father, and had hummed quietly, rocking him back and forth soothingly.

Kwame thinks the same gesture, the same comfort, is too little in this situation. But he doesn't know what else to do, so he wraps his arms around Linka tightly and holds her close until he feels her slowly curl into him, turning her head away from the gory scene on the other side of the glass.

* * *

"It is not real," Linka says. Her voice is croaky and rough.

Kwame tightens his hold on her.

"It cannot be real," she says, starting to weep. "That is not him."

He decides to indulge her, because he can't see how the truth will help right now, when she already knows that of course it's real; of course it's Mishka hanging there. Dead.

"The others will find us soon," he says soothingly, keeping his voice low and close to her ear. "They will get us out of here and then everything will be all right."

She nods in relief, finally closing her eyes. She slumps against him and curls her legs up, holding tight to his t-shirt.

He cannot imagine the grief she is feeling. Kwame's mother lasted only a couple of years after his father, and that loss still seems indescribable to him. His throat tightens, just thinking about it.

He cannot imagine forming a bond like a brother and sister must share, to be best friends and family all in one package, only to have them so violently taken, right in front of you.

"It is my fault," Linka whispers helplessly. "She did it because I destroyed her program." She starts to cry again, though it lacks her earlier panicked energy.

Kwame holds her tightly, stroking her hair, soft beneath his fingertips. "This is not your fault," he says, with as much conviction as he can possibly muster. "Of course this is not your fault."

Eventually, Linka dozes off, too weakened and distraught to keep herself alert any longer.

But sleep doesn't come to find Kwame. He holds her tightly and stares at the pool of blood on the other side of the glass.

* * *

Linka seems to be treating the whole thing as some sort of nightmare. She seems better when Kwame positions himself between her and the glass window, so she can't see Mishka's body unless she lifts her head.

She keeps her head down. "Where are the others?" she asks desperately.

"They will be here soon," Kwame promises, though he has no idea. For all he knows, he and Linka could just slowly waste away in this room, never to be rescued, forced to stare upon Mishka's body for the rest of their lives.

She seems desperate for conversation, for noise and distraction. "Do you have a brother, Kwame?"

"No," he answers. He watches her eyes close. "My parents died when I was young," he adds. "There were no other children close to my age in our village."

"That must have been lonely."

"There was too much to be done to dwell on loneliness," he says.

Lines crease Linka's brow. "No matter how hard he works," she whispers, "Mishka always makes time for me."

Kwame starts the repetitive action of stroking his fingers through her hair again, to comfort himself as much as trying to comfort her.

"He works in the mines," Linka adds quietly. "Everyone loves Mishka. He reminds everyone of our father. I was always afraid Mishka would die down there..." She swallows hard.

Kwame doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what to say. He pulls her close so her breath is warm and soft against his throat, and he holds tightly to her so she can't see Mishka's body, which is still hanging so still and bloody behind him.

* * *

They are alerted to their rescue by Gi screaming.

Kwame keeps his arms around Linka, but she's crying again as her eyes fall upon Mishka.

Wheeler finds the switch that slides the glass panel aside. The metallic smell of blood rushes into the room as soon as the window opens.

Wheeler looks as though he's about to be sick. "You okay?" he asks, frantically.

Linka shudders and grips tight to Kwame's hand. "I want to go home."

"Who is that?" Ma-Ti has tears streaming down his face.

"It is Mishka," Kwame says quietly. He hugs Linka tightly and then passes her into Wheeler's arms, gently. "We need to take him home."

He supposes they should call the police. But he's not sure what good it will do, and he's certain getting Linka out of here is the best thing to do now. He quietly requests help from Ma-Ti, who wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and then nods, steeling himself.

They cut Mishka's body down gently, though he is stiff, and still crusted with blood. Gi pulls the curtain down off the wall and they wrap Mishka's body in it as gently as they can.

Kwame catches Linka's eye as they prepare to leave. He lifts Mishka's packaged body carefully, with Ma-Ti's help. Linka's eyes focus on the floor, and she keeps her head down as they leave.

* * *

Gi takes control of the geo-cruiser and sets coordinates for Linka's home town. Ma-Ti sits beside her and occasionally reaches out to pat her shoulder comfortingly.

Kwame sits at the back of the geo-cruiser and tries to clean Mishka up a little. He closes Mishka's eyes and bathes the blood from his face and his hair.

It takes Wheeler's help to get Mishka's arms down at his sides, but after so long the body has started to soften again, and they manage it with some effort.

Linka curls into a seat behind Gi and sobs quietly, her hands over her face.

* * *

Kwame hates the cold, but he braves it without question when he sees Linka standing by the gate of her family home, in the shadows, with no coat on.

He wraps a coat around her shoulders, but she doesn't turn. Her eyes are fixed on the moving line of flashlights and helmet lamps moving down the road. Miners returning home.

"He is not coming," she says. Her voice is almost completely stolen by the cruel, icy wind slicing across the bare, frozen ground.

"I am so sorry, Linka," he says quietly. He takes her hand in the dark. Her fingers must be numb, she's so cold. "Blight will not get away with it."

"I do not care," Linka says, staring at the lights ahead, her voice wooden. "It does not matter. Mishka is gone. Nothing will bring him home again."

Kwame squeezes her hand. "Come inside," he pleads. "It is so cold out here."

"It feels good," Linka says, sounding as numb and frozen as Kwame feels. "I do not want to go in."

"Please," he says, tugging her gently. "Your grandmother is worried about you."

That brings her in. Kwame feels relief. He's not sure what Linka will do next – not sure she will want to come back to Hope Island. Arrangements have been made for her grandmother to go to America, to stay with Linka's uncle Dimitri and cousin Boris, but Linka has already said she doesn't want to go.

"You okay, babe?" Wheeler asks, looking pale and exhausted in the yellow light of the kitchen.

"_Nyet,_" Linka answers. She disappears into Mishka's old bedroom and shuts the door.

"Stupid question, I guess," Wheeler mutters, looking down at his hands.

"What about you, Kwame?" Ma-Ti asks softly.

Kwame almost jumps. "What?"

"You saw it too," Gi reminds him gently. "Are you all right?"

"Oh," he says. "Yes."

But of course he's not. Not all right at all.

* * *

"Kwame!"

He wakes with a start, and for a moment his heart jumps crazily because he thinks he's covered in blood, until he remembers the shreds of a nightmare. It is only sweat on his skin.

Gi bursts into his hut then, and he connects his waking with her crying his name. "Kwame," she says desperately. "Come quick. It's Linka. I don't know what to do."

Gi is crying, and Kwame takes her hand and squeezes it, forcing his own fear and nightmares back, swallowing hard. He can hear Linka sobbing long before they reach her.

The jungle on Hope Island hums with insects and the night calls of birds, and the waves on the beach wash in and out, but nothing is drowning out Linka's panic.

He sits beside her and wraps his arms tight around her again, but she shudders and struggles, feeling hot and damp in his arms.

"It was just a nightmare, Linka," Gi says, and her voice cracks.

Kwame gives her the bravest smile he can possibly muster. "It is all right, Gi. Go to sleep. We will be all right."

"Are you sure?" she asks in a small voice.

"I promise." He feels like he's telling an awful lot of people this lately, and it's a lie every time.

Gi closes Linka's door gently, and Kwame pulls the blankets up around Linka and himself, despite the sticky heat of the night and the sweat still clinging to his skin.

He cocoons her inside the sheets with him and takes her face in his hands, stroking hot tears away with his thumbs.

"He was so frightened," Linka chokes. "He must have been so frightened."

He can't lie any more. "Yes," he agrees quietly, his face close to hers in their dark tent of bedding. "We were all frightened."

"It is all my fault," she wails. "I killed him."

"No," Kwame says firmly. "No, Linka."

It is exhaustion which forces her to calm down eventually. Her breath slows and her fingers curl against the front of Kwame's chest.

"I do not know what to say," he admits quietly, stroking her hair back off her damp forehead. "I wish I could make things all right, Linka."

"It will never be all right," she croaks. "Not this time."

She burrows into him, her breath hot on his skin.

"Blight got away," she says after a moment. "Mishka is buried. Mishka is dead, and Blight is still out there."

"She will not get away with it," Kwame vows. He feels that this part is his fault, that it was his decision to get Mishka's body – and Linka – out of Blight's little prison that led to the new reality of Blight probably escaping charges.

"I do not know what to do," Linka says miserably. "In my nightmares I see it over and over. In my nightmares she comes for us next."

"I know," Kwame whispers. He doesn't want to have to tell her Gi woke him just before Blight's knife sliced his own throat.

"The others are trying to understand, but they cannot," she says, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "They cannot possibly understand."

"They're worried," Kwame says. "They're not trying to understand, Linka, they're just not sure what to do."

"Neither am I," Linka says in a small voice. "I feel as though I should be tracking Blight down. That I should be bringing her to justice."

Kwame shifts so he can stroke her hair again. "What would Mishka want you to do?"

She blinks her wet lashes against his throat. "I have tried to think about it. I am not sure what he would want."

"I am sure he would want you happy," Kwame whispers. "I am sure he would not want you miserable and trying to think of revenge."

"I miss him so much," Linka weeps. "She killed him because of something I did."

"She will not get away with it," Kwame promises. "But our idea of justice is unlike hers. And it will take time."

Linka nods tiredly.

"Go to sleep," he urges quietly. He keeps the blankets around them, despite it being so hot it's almost unbearable. The comfort they crave comes from closeness, not from warmth, but the tent of bedding over them shelters them from everything else and makes them feel safe.

"Please stay," Linka whispers.

He kisses her brow in response. He wants to tell her things will look better in the morning, but it will only feel like another lie. He wants to tell her things will be all right, but he's not sure of that either.

"I have the same nightmares," he says eventually. He figures that's as close to understanding as he'll ever get.

Linka's eyes flutter closed, and her fingers close around his wrist, seeking his pulse. "Will you help me find her?" she asks.

"Yes," he answers, without hesitation. He kisses her brow again. "Of course we will."


	22. Patient

**Title/Prompt:** Patient  
**Rating/Warnings:** G  
**Word count:** 1770  
**Summary:** He can't help it if it's weird she's sitting here with him now, timelines all crossed and jumbled, lives meeting before they're supposed to.

******Notes: **Unbeta'd. Just in time for the challenge on the forum here on FFN - "episode based fic." Eee! This is kind of... loose, I guess? It's based on that scene from _Future Shock_, where Gaia summons the future Planeteers to help, and Wheeler notices that a couple of them look an awful lot like he and Linka...

I've changed several details, including the physical description of what is possibly (okay, definitely) his daughter. Because come on, she just looked like Linka. So I gave her red hair, because aw.

This is, obviously, not related to the previous chapter, though I do intend to continue that at some point in the future.

* * *

"_Hey_!"

Wheeler coughs and opens watering eyes. His ears are ringing. His face is wet with sweat or blood – perhaps both. The sky is filled with dust and noise, flashes of supernatural light.

"We gotta go!"

He notices her now – trying to pull him up, and he thinks his eyes are really messed up, because she looks younger than ever and her hair is the same fiery red as his own.

Maybe it's the blood in his eyes.

His legs buckle beneath him, but he falls after her, weaving drunkenly between raw scars in the earth, scraps of metal which, he thinks, were the pods the eco-villains were in just moments before.

It takes him a few moments to realise it's not Linka pulling him by the hand, but one of the future Planeteers – the kids Gaia summoned moments before Zarm lost his mind and started to rip the planet apart right in front of them.

Wheeler spits blood and starts to ask where Gaia is – where his friends are, where _her_ friends are, where either of the two Captain Planet figures are.

"Move!" she screams at him. The air is filling with smoke and the noise in his head is almost enough to bring him to his knees.

He falls too soon, but she pulls him down into a ditch, dirt and grass torn above them, barely sheltering them, but hiding them from view.

He hopes it's enough.

"Are you okay?" She – she's so much like Linka – leans over him worriedly, swiping clumsily at the blood that's running into his eyes.

"Never felt better," he says. His tongue is numb and he thinks he must have bitten it when he went flying through the air before. "Where's everyone?" He blinks, feeling a bit sick.

"Dunno." Her eyes are wide and blue. "Gaia's up there somewhere."

A roll of thunder shakes the sky, the earth. Wheeler feels it tremble in his bones.

"This is bad," he says. He spits blood into the dirt and tries to sit up. "Where are my friends?"

"I don't _know,_" she says. "Sit down, you're gonna bleed to death."

He slumps under her hand, worry and fear no match for a throbbing head and aching muscles.

"Listen, Gaia will fix it," she says. Her eyes blaze and it fills him with a strange sort of confidence. He believes her.

"Yeah," he agrees. He watches her for a moment; watches her run a hand – streaked with mud and blood – through her coppery hair, and there's something just so _familiar_ about her.

"You look a lot like Linka," he says suddenly. "Except for the hair."

He almost adds it on as an afterthought, but as soon as the words occur to him – _you've got my hair_ – he freezes up. He stares at her, noting the line of her nose and her jaw, the sky-blue shade of her eyes, the way she worries her lower lip with her teeth.

"What?" she asks sharply, noticing his new interest in her.

"What's your name?" he asks, because he doesn't know what else to ask. (He's pretty sure there are rules, but Gaia's busy now and she can't stop him asking questions.)

She rubs at a grazed knee, looking nervous. "Anna," she says eventually.

_Ahh-na._

"Sounds Russian," he says. He sits up, leaning against the torn earth behind him. His pain is almost forgotten.

She looks away. "Does it?"

She is perfect, he thinks. He wants to laugh, or hug her, or something, because spontaneous happiness has grabbed hold of him fiercely and is driving him to action – but they are strangers.

Strangers, and not.

"_What_?" she asks again, sounding positively peevish now.

"Nothing," he answers. He tries to stop staring at her. (_She's got my hair and my eyes, but Linka's nose and mouth, and Linka's shoulders and hands, and the attitude probably comes from the both of us.)_

She peers up over the crest of earth they've taken shelter behind. "Gaia and Zarm are still fighting it out," she says, as though the thunder and lightning above them wasn't enough to clue him in. "I can see Uncle Kwame –"

She bites off and falls back, looking afraid and furious.

"Uncle Kwame, huh?" Wheeler asks. He wipes his stinging eyes free of blood, and smirks at her.

She folds her arms and looks away, refusing to speak to him. She looks so much like Linka here, it's a confirmation of everything.

Wheeler fidgets, shifting uncomfortably. He wipes blood off his face onto his arm. "Is Kwame all right?" he asks.

"Yeah." She glances at him and winces. "You've just opened up the cut on your face again."

He can feel fresh blood dripping down his cheek. "Figured as much." He presses his palm against his brow. "You hurt?"

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around her knees.

"How old are you?" Wheeler asks.

"Fifteen."

"And you're a Planeteer?" he asks, suddenly angry. (There's a voice at the back of his head telling him to shut up, but he shouts back at it with a voice that rings from his heart – that there's no way this girl _can't_ be his daughter, because look at her; look at her, she's so damn perfect and he can't help it if it's weird she's sitting here with him now, timelines all crossed and jumbled, lives meeting before they're supposed to.)

"Of course I'm a Planeteer!" she says.

"Why aren't you in school?" he asks.

She snorts. "Please. You're the _last_ person who should be lecturing me on that."

He doesn't quite know what to say to that.

She looks pleased with herself. She dusts off her hands and squints up at the sky. Dust is still swirling about, but things have quietened. Wheeler thinks he can hear Gaia and Ma-Ti talking together, facing up to Zarm, and he knows things are probably drawing to a close.

He feels tired, sore, dizzy... and exhilarated. Anna is confirmation that the future will be fine – better than fine. He and Linka have a daughter at some point in the future, which is more than he'd ever dared to hope.

But then, the whole point of today is knowing that the future can turn on a dime and become something completely different in a split second.

The fear clenches in his gut again.

"How do I win her over?" he asks, leaning over so he can see her better.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asks, bewildered.

"Linka," he says impatiently.

"I'm _Anna_," she says, eyes wide. "Do you have concussion?"

"No, listen," he says, quickly, because now he can hear Kwame and he knows his friends are gathering, probably because victory is near, which means this moment is about to be lost. "Listen, how do I win Linka over?"

Anna rolls her eyes and mutters something that makes his heart skip a beat. _"Bozhe moy._"

"I know I do," he says, smug. "I know I'm your dad and she's your ma, and maybe that'll never happen unless you tell me how to win her heart, huh?"

Anna waves her hand, apparently unconcerned. "You don't know what you're talking about," she says. But then she adds, "I'm not supposed to say."

"Gaia's rules?" Wheeler asks in a low voice.

Anna smirks. (His smirk, with Linka's mouth, makes him grin.) "Mom's rules," she says. "Told me not to tell you."

"She did not," Wheeler argues, annoyed.

"She did," Anna shoots back. "And I want to stay on her good side. Besides," she adds, "my future's good, and I don't wanna mess it up. Who knows what mess I've already caused, just by dragging you here."

She frowns at him, like it was his fault he was nearly killed in an explosion caused by the eco-villains.

"Leaving me to die would probably make your future kind of bleak," Wheeler points out.

Her mouth twitches. "I guess."

"Are we happy?" Wheeler asks curiously. "Me and Linka?"

"Sickeningly so," Anna says through gritted teeth. "If it makes a difference, me telling you now, can you remember to dial it back a bit when you're in front of your kids? It grosses us out."

Wheeler's heart lifts again. "We've got more kids?" he asks.

Anna jerks her thumb toward the direction of the battle. "Your son's up there somewhere," she says. "Probably getting in the way."

Wheeler feels faint with happiness. (Or blood loss. Or both.)

"If you tell me," he says, leaning back in the dirt again, "I'll spoil you. Sneak you candy when Linka says you can't have any. Let you stay up late. Won't make you eat your vegetables."

She looks amused. "Right."

"I swear," he says.

"I believe you." She cocks an eyebrow at him, looking at him rather curiously. "How old are you? Now, I mean?"

"Twenty," he says.

He can see her doing the math in her head. Counting the years until her existence.

"Hm," she says. She tilts her head.

"What?" he asks.

"They're looking for us." She gets to her feet and brushes herself down. "Over here!" she calls. "We're okay!" She looks down at him. "You getting up?"

"Please tell me," he begs. "I've tried everything."

Anna sighs and offers him her hand, pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. She steps away from him then, looking nervous. But the smirk (_his_ smirk, and he can't get over how lovely it is to see it on her) is soon back on her face again. "I'll tell you," she says. "In Russian."

"I don't speak Russian," he says, desperate now.

She feigns surprise. "You _don't_?" She shoves him lightly in the direction of the gathering Planeteers – present and future. "Guess you'll just have to learn, then, huh?"

"Wait," he blurts. "Was that a clue?"

She shrugs, and starts to stroll ahead of him. "Sorry, Dad," she says, murmuring the words to him over her shoulder with a cheeky grin. "Guess you'll just have to be patient."


	23. Prison

**Title/Prompt:** Prison  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG  
**Word count:** 3360  
**Summary: **_Such a lack of self control, Gaia. Such a streak of rebellion. Of course we had to punish you._

******Notes:** For the current challenge on the forum here on FFN, regarding writing about, or from the POV of, a character you rarely write.

I said I don't do first person POV, so naturally, my brain starts to guide me that way. IDEK. Also, Gaia! I love Gaia, but I've never written her to this extent. I decided to fill in her back-story, and I think I chose a rather odd angle. It's definitely different to anything I've written before.

Thank you, **mudget**, for your beta help!

* * *

I was so young. So young it's almost difficult to fathom. Though I wonder sometimes if it is ever possible to be _old_ when time means so little.

Being young did not excuse me from punishment.

* * *

I knew, at the time, that it was forbidden. I also knew that choosing a spirit of destruction, chaos and power was not – if I was going to break the rules – a wise partner to choose.

But youth has never been very good at listening to wisdom or reason; has never been very good at understanding self-preservation.

I think it's even worse when you're immortal and you have nothing but time on your hands.

* * *

"You said you'd be gone by now."

I lift my head from Zarm's chest to see him noting the position of the stars in the sky. "I fell asleep."

I have never been very good at keeping track of time when I sleep. Sometimes I wonder just how many years have passed as I've slumbered away. Time marches on and I slowly, slowly grow older. Gaining age and never achieving anything, never changing, never feeling a desire to seize upon something, lest it be lost.

With all the time in the universe, I am confident that I will have a spare moment or two to gain back any opportunities that may slip by me.

"It's dangerous for you to stay here too long," Zarm warns, but his fingers tangle in my hair again, and I succumb to his pressure and direction and kiss him again.

This is how I pass my time. Taking risks with a professional risk-taker.

I am bound to come undone. Luck runs out much faster than time does.

* * *

My arrest occurs as I sit at the edge of the sea, watching the peaks froth over the crystal points that spike from the ocean floor.

I am wrapped in unbreakable chains forged by the fires of the sun, and I am led away to be sentenced.

I knew it was a real consequence; a real danger. But I am still afraid. I have never seen anyone punished for this. I have only heard stories which are, at best, frayed memories or embellished tales of horror, passion, sacrifice.

I am not expecting Zarm to sacrifice himself for me.

* * *

Zarm sits in his throne of stone and crystal, beside his peers, and I realise immediately that he is safe; that he has never even been a suspect.

For a moment, I allow myself to feel relief. If it is not suspected that my lover is a Committee member, perhaps my punishment will be less severe than I fear.

The Committee, however, does not seem interested in finding out who it was I broke the rules with.

"Do you understand," I am asked, in measured tones, "what it is you have done?"

I lower my head, too young to feel anything but embarrassment and fear. "I have joined forces, physically, with another," I admit. I am careful not to look at Zarm.

There are no surprised murmurings or gasps of shock or dismay. My guilt is already known. I have, somehow, already admitted to my crime, while Zarm has slipped through the accusations without so much as a hint of wrongdoing.

"Do you understand the consequences of your actions?"

I force myself to keep my head down. If I look up, surely I will look at him, and they will put chains on him and punish him alongside me. It would break my heart, knowing I had sentenced him with one glance.

"No," I answer. Because I am so new I have never seen this crime broken. I do not know what the consequences are.

It takes me a few moments to realise they, too, are unsure of how I am to be punished. I risk a quick look at Zarm, but he is bent over in discussion with Strerd. Discussing my sentence.

I have not had the sense to fear consequence before. Being immortal causes you to fear very little. I am not sure there is anything they can do to me which will make me feel I was wrong for joining with Zarm.

But my sentence, when it finally comes, is beyond what horrors I am capable of imagining.

* * *

I am allowed three more sunrises before I am transported to my prison. I am locked in a golden cage, made of the same warm, unbreakable material of the chains I was wrapped in during Committee. A golden band is wrapped around my brow, identifying me as a criminal.

Even if I could escape the cage, I am branded now, as one who almost brought destruction and end to an entire society with her selfish desires.

Will be branded forever so.

I am allowed by the sea, my enclosure hung from an arch of crystal, so that my peers may pass by and offer judgement upon my misfortune.

Zarm walks by me, but he does not speak or look at me.

* * *

I begin to understand the consequences of my actions when I suffer what I believe is withdrawal. I begin to see Zarm's face when I am not sure it is really there, and I long for the warm muscle of his chest beneath my cheek, of the silken feel of his hair against my fingertips.

I finally understand what is meant by longing, jealousy, love. Hatred. And I do understand the danger of those things, now that they have me so firmly in their grip. Had I not been caught so soon – had I grown enough, learned enough, developed my own strengths and powers enough – who knows what I could be capable of in the depths of such despair.

I understand now that self-preservation is less about life and death and more about restraint and willpower.

Physically, nothing can stop us. It is our emotional side which could bring us our doom, which could rip our world and system apart.

It is, perhaps, lucky that I am so young. We only gain as we age, and I cannot imagine how I would cope if my emotions were any stronger than they already are.

Isolation is the key to success; the key to order and reason.

And so isolation is what I am sentenced to.

* * *

Zarm finally acknowledges me moments before I am transported. He offers me nothing more than traditional sorrow and farewell, kissing the inside of my wrists and clasping my hands as he bows his head and whispers my name.

"Gaia."

He is on the other side of my golden cage, and I hate him for it.

My hands fall to my sides when he lets me go, and I say nothing in response to his public mourning.

* * *

I could sleep. I could sleep forever, needing to wake for nothing, and simply let time steal by, marching on without any notice from me.

I could pretend, then, that I am suffering nothing.

I do sleep, for a while. I am not sure for how long. But when I wake, the first time, I am surprised by the changes which have passed.

Evidently, time matters in this place, even if I remain untouched by it.

My barren prison of ice, rock and crystal has changed somewhat. There is a sea surrounding me now, and the air is warm and moist. The wind has quietened to something soft and sweet.

I stand at the opening of my Crystal Chamber and I begin to wonder.

* * *

Strerd is surprised and stern when I contact him.

"You do understand," he says, his voice heavy with authority, "that this is the only contact with us you will ever have, Gaia? That one issue of communication is all you are allowed."

"I understand," I tell him.

"I thought you'd last a few _million_ years, at least," he says.

He looks no different. Neither does the chamber behind him. I can see Zarm's throne, though it is empty. No matter. I need Zarm for nothing.

Strerd is the one with the answers to my questions.

"I do not understand the rules which bind me on this planet," I say. It is difficult to put this into words. "I do not understand what I am and am not allowed."

Strerd has not expected questions. He has expected, I think, pleading and desperation.

"What am I forbidden to do?" I ask.

Strerd looks concerned. "You are forbidden contact with us once our link here is broken, Gaia. The Crystal Vision will not link you to us again. Ever."

"Will it work for other things?" I ask. Curious.

He seems unnerved by my attitude. Annoyed, perhaps, that I am not suffering.

"What other things?" he asks.

"Anything."

Strerd tents his fingers. For a moment, he looks at me almost admiringly, before his expression becomes serious again. "The only rules which bind you," he says, "are the rules of your isolation. You are not to contact anyone here."

"This technology won't allow that, after today," I remind him. "I couldn't contact you if I wanted to."

He nods his head once. Agreement.

"Things have changed," I say. "When I arrived, I was surrounded by ice. Now the ice is gone and I am surrounded by sea." I look out over the waves and try to explain the feeling of things here. "There is..." I hesitate. "A cell," I say. "An area to which I feel bound, an area which leaves me with my strength instead of sapping it from me."

"The Crystal Chamber," Strerd informs me. "There is an area outside of that – a cell, if you will."

"Such a small cell on such a large prison." I fold my arms. The band across my forehead glows warm, always, on my skin.

"It is your own doing," Strerd reminds me. "Such a lack of self control, Gaia. Such a streak of rebellion. Of course we had to punish you."

"Of course." My voice is tinged with bitterness.

_And what of my lover_? I want to ask. _Why am I the only one being punished for an act that takes two?_

"Do you have any other questions?" Strerd asks.

For a moment, I want to linger. His is possibly the last voice I will ever hear. My home, my peers, my equals and lessers and betters – I am to be cut off from them for giving into desire. For threatening their upheaval with an act that leads to emotions too strong to rein in.

"There is nothing else," I say.

Strerd looks at me for a long moment before he nods, once, and the screen goes dark.

It could only be my imagination which allows me to feel the soft pressure of farewell kisses on my wrists.

I am alone again, and this time, there is no possibility of tomorrow bringing me any refuge from my solitude.

* * *

I do not sleep again. I set myself to exploring my prison.

I am able to leave the island – my cell – but it tires me, and I find myself returning to the familiar structures of crystal to regain my strength again.

I am so young I have not yet discovered my path, and it distracts me, for a while, as I try to figure out what I could be. (Or could have been. I am not sure this place will allow me to develop as I should.)

In my less rational moments, entwined with Zarm beneath the stars, I imagined myself ruling foreign worlds with him.

Gaia, Spirit of War.

It no longer sounds right. I wonder if it ever really did.

Zarm chose destruction.

I choose creation.

* * *

I have not created before. I make mistakes. Most of my first attempts are ugly and cumbersome.

Despite this, I do not consider it my fault when I lose most of my work.

I blame Zarm. I am not sure I should, but I cannot think of anyone who would send a love note such as this.

The impact is more destructive than anything else, but I don't mind. I allow myself to feel nostalgic for a moment, remember what it was like to give into love and foolishness... Before I remember that Zarm is still free to send his love and devastation through the stars, while I am left toying with the unknown, alone, fumbling my way toward a goal I am not even sure of.

I go back to sleep.

* * *

I am in a better mood when I wake. I set myself to refining my work, using Zarm's gift as an excuse for second drafts.

I can watch everything without having to leave my island. The screens in my Crystal Chamber allow me to see every realm of my prison. I use the wind and the air, the trees, the water. I watch my prison flourish under its own influence, with only the slightest guidance from me.

My pride is surpassed only by my loneliness.

* * *

There are certain creations I take special care with. I create as carefully as I can, but sometimes I am still forced to wait for the natural order of things before anything comes close to my initial idea.

I don't mind waiting, of course. But it's frustrating, unable to create a finished product myself.

* * *

The idea of creating a companion seems so dangerous that I return to sleep again, afraid of my own thoughts.

It was selfish desires like this which got me here in the first place. Apparently, I have not yet learned my lesson.

When it occurs to me that I can suffer no worse – they have already branded me and cast me into isolation – I decide to try anyway.

I already have likenesses starting to bloom and evolve across this place. They are beginning to look like me, and even act a little like me, which simultaneously thrills me and scares me. I keep my distance from them, but I spend more time watching them on my Crystal Vision screens than any of the other things I have created.

I forge my companion from elements I am most comfortable using. Things which bend and shape to my whim and desire.

Earth.

Fire.

Wind.

Water.

And, as a last act of rebellion, as defiance to the same rules which landed me here, alone, I add one more. Something unpredictable and dangerous. Something wonderful.

Heart.

* * *

I hide him. He is mine, and I am worried that somehow, he will be discovered, and taken from me. I forge him a cell not unlike my own, and enforce rules.

Only I can summon him. He is mine, a secret. Something I do not want to share.

Time does not matter to him, either. My other living things burst forth with life, and die quickly. Even those which last longest are dust in what seems to be no time at all.

But he is like me. He rides on the wind, he melts into the earth or the sea, and he does not wither or age.

I am careful to instil him with a sense of preservation. Having not had one myself until recently, I do not want trouble to fall between us. Selfish desires are what landed me here. He understands the only way to survive here is with care.

And I do not want someone like Zarm. Not again.

I am far off the path of destruction these days, and I like it.

* * *

I dub him Captain.

Sometimes I feel as though I am holding him in a prison within a prison, only letting him out when I want him. He tells me he doesn't mind, and he always greets me in a cheerful mood, so I am inclined to believe him.

Time matters not to him, anyway.

I know what I have done is wrong. Though Strerd never said so, I know creating another immortal is against the rules. I am not supposed to have anyone.

But death is so constant in this place, I find myself being worn down by it, unable to bear the sight of it.

My prison is green and flourishing, filled with colour and noise and life.

But dying all the time.

* * *

Time passes. I begin to grow bored with my prison. I am sick of death and destruction. Sometimes I feel as though Zarm would enjoy this place more than I do.

The Captain tells me to look on the bright side. I have been letting him out more lately, but I am still lonely.

I still do not understand why I am here. I feel as though I should have some understanding of what I am lacking; of what it was, exactly, which led to my punishment.

Captain asks me, once, but I find that I cannot explain it to him.

"I think," I say, carefully, "that I led with passion and impulse instead of logic and reasoning."

"A payment of eternal solitude seems a little harsh," he says. "If that's all you did."

"It's different there," I tell him. "Eternity is more fragile than you think."

I wonder how Zarm has lasted so long, being so admiring of disorder and chaos.

And then realise I have no idea whether or not he's still getting away with it. For all I know, he's on his own prison somewhere.

* * *

Now and then I feel connections to others. But their lives last such a short time, I dare not explore emotions like curiosity, love, or desire. I dare not grow close to anyone. (Sometimes I tell myself I have learned my lesson, until I realise Captain is always waiting for me.)

I am better at watching death now. I am able to accept it as an inevitability. But I still desire to distance myself from it as much as possible.

When these connections start to grow stronger – a soul here, a soul there, threaded to me with invisible force – I retreat into slumber.

* * *

I wake to find myself embroiled within a punishment of my own making.

My prison is all I have, and I suppose after a few hundred million years here, I am growing attached to it. And I am dismayed to find that with so much life, I have, somehow, created an end.

Perhaps Zarm's influence is not so easy to shake off.

It feels different. It tastes different.

I do not want to start again. It is not like before. I can feel too many lives this time, and I can't justify eradicating them.

This has been my undoing before. This attachment, this love, this stupid emotion which threatens to unravel everything. Why must it be so tightly binding?

I am suddenly grateful for my solitude. At least I have only brought this destruction upon myself and my own creations. Perhaps The Committee was right. Had I stayed home, free, who knows what abominations I would have brought upon my peers.

Even with all my creation and nurturing, my prison is wilting and suffocating.

(Though it is hardly a prison now. It is a home, and all I really have.)

I do not want destruction to win. I throw out lines, seeking help, falling to love and understanding once more in the hope that it will bring me salvation.

And I find them, five of them, quickly. And I know they are right, not only because I can feel their connection to me, but because I can feel their connection to the only other companion I have here.

I know now that love will always come with loss. So be it. For the first time in my life, I feel the need to seize an opportunity, lest it pass me by.

Despite eternity, I am not sure I will get another chance at this.


	24. Confused

**Title/Prompt:** Confused  
**Rating/Warnings:** M  
**Word count:** 1515  
**Summary:** And fitting into a box just isn't for her, and she hates it, sometimes – not that she doesn't fit, exactly, but that she feels bad about not fitting.

******Notes:** So I am still totally on board with the idea of Gi, Wheeler and Kwame all being in a totally awesome threesome relationship together. And this is my second attempt at it. Nothing explicit at all - more about Gi's feelings. And it's unbeta'd.

* * *

She never stays, and that is how she lives with it. Because no matter how much pleasure it brings, no matter how many smiles pass across her lips, no matter how many times her heart skips a beat, there is a certain amount of guilt which comes from sleeping with two people at once.

Even if they all know about it, even if they're all happy with it, Gi can't quite get past the overwhelming thought that has been drilled into her across her lifetime, across cultures and countries and friendships and relationships: monogamy.

And fitting into a box just isn't for her, and she hates it, sometimes – not that she doesn't fit, exactly, but that she feels bad about not fitting; feels guilty about separating from the path everyone else deems right.

Kwame never says anything and Wheeler just laughs and says he doesn't care what anyone else thinks. Gi suspects he's lying, just a little, but she doesn't push it – she even envies how easily he slips into confidence, whether it's true or not.

* * *

"How come you don't stay?" Wheeler asks drowsily, his skin sticky and warm against hers, the sheet low against his hips. His arm is slung over her stomach, his cheek on her shoulder. "D'you go straight to Kwame?"

"No," Gi says, not sleepy at all. "Just to bed. Can't sleep beside you, kicking about all night."

He chuckles, but makes no effort to move off her, to let her out of the bed.

"Do you get jealous of him?" Gi asks curiously.

"Nah," Wheeler says, and he sounds tired enough she believes him.

* * *

On another night, in another quiet moment of content and closeness, and she asks him, "How would you explain your relationship with me?"

"Casual," Wheeler says.

She grins and nudges him. "No, I mean, what would you call it? You know, what am I, to you?"

He groans, like she's making him think about something he's always known he's had to answer, but he's been putting it off, like it's homework or an undesirable chore.

"I dunno if there's a word for it," he says eventually. "You'll probably get insulted if I estimate any sort of guess."

She lets the subject die.

* * *

Kwame is different. He tastes different, smells different.

_Deep_, Gi thinks, though she's not sure deep is an adjective that can be assigned to a thing such as scent.

He tries to answer her questions with questions of his own.

"I think," he says quietly, his fingers stirring slowly against the pale underside of her breast, "that you are looking for a justification of some kind."

"That doesn't answer my question," she says, annoyed.

"Would having an answer make you feel better?" he asks.

"I don't feel _bad_," she says eventually. "I just don't feel right."

"Guilty?" Kwame asks.

She looks up at him, his head above hers on the soft white pillow. "I guess," she admits. "But I don't know why. And I don't want to feel guilty, because I don't think what we're really doing is wrong... Not really."

"Neither do I," Kwame says, comfortingly. He kisses the top of her head and Gi thinks, for a while, that she will spend all night in his bed.

(She doesn't. She slips out when he falls asleep, and curls up on her own mattress, alone, and wonders why being herself is so difficult to live with.)

* * *

She doesn't ever get the impression that the boys are competing over her. She doesn't keep count – how many nights she spends with Wheeler compared to how many nights she spends with Kwame. She thinks it's relatively even, though she also thinks they both have a better idea of the actual numbers than she does.

She doesn't ever get the impression that they talk about her or compare notes, though she doesn't _know_, exactly, that they don't. She doesn't talk much about Wheeler to Kwame, or about Kwame to Wheeler, and they don't ask questions that prompt that sort of conversation.

It's not a competition, or a relationship to keep track of via statistics and numbers, but Gi can't help but think that's what it probably looks like to other people.

* * *

They are different, of course. Before Gi, Kwame had only had sex with one other girl, and she suspects he loved her more than he dares to love Gi. But it's good, and close, and she comes and her body tightens and bends beneath him or above him, her breath stuttering and catching and exploding against his skin.

Wheeler has had sex with so many girls he hasn't bothered to count. He doesn't brag as much about it as Gi thought he would, but he does introduce her to things that flip her mind around and give her aches and strained muscles in strange places. ("Just lift your leg a little higher," he says. "Trust me.")

She loves them both, but she doesn't tell either of them.

* * *

Wheeler is the first to follow her to her own bed, cheekily declaring she'd never listed it as a rule, as off-limits. The morning sun is breaking through her window when he comes, naked and trembling, breath hot and fast against her neck.

She shivers and twitches beneath him, eyes closed, and mumbles curses into his hair about how he's so stubborn, and why can't he just let it be a thing where she can disappear and sleep and not have to be one half of a partnership for a whole night.

"It's not a partnership when there are three people, toots," he says, his mouth open against her breast.

"Get lost," she says, but she's grinning too much for him to take her seriously.

She thinks he tells Kwame about this one, because the next day it's him, following her into the shower, tracing soap-slippery fingers over her body and telling her he wishes, sometimes, that he would wake up and she would still be beside him.

She feels guilty, again, for a decision she had made and was happy with, until somebody made her feel it wasn't quite normal.

* * *

She writes the rules down. She wasn't aware she really had any, until they both start breaking them. _1. My room is my room, and when I'm in my room, I want to be alone._

"That's not fair," Wheeler says. "You just come into my room whenever the hell you want. Why can't I go into yours?"

"If you don't want me in your room, just say so," she says.

He doesn't say anything.

"Are these rules just for me?" Kwame asks, looking at the list with a slight air of bewilderment.

"Wheeler, too," Gi says firmly. _2. I am not an object to be conquered._

"Certainly not this late in the game," Wheeler says.

She goes to Kwame that night, because she's still pissed at Wheeler, and he tells her of course she's not something to be conquered.

"Is that how you feel?" he asks, looking concerned as he undresses her slowly, lips pressing soft against her skin.

"No," she says truthfully. "I just don't want you to think like that."

"I don't," Kwame promises. "I do not think that Wheeler thinks that way, either." _3. I am happy with things the way they are, and I don't want them to change._

"I'm not sure how that can be a rule," Wheeler says, dubiously.

"I'm not sure, either," Gi admits. "But I wanted to say it."

Kwame doesn't say anything to that rule. Gi suspects he doesn't like having to look too far into the future. She suspects he doesn't want to commit to a relationship of three people for the rest of his life, but thinking about when to draw the line and end it is uncomfortable.

She doesn't want it to end at all, but there's an annoying, prickly feeling in the back of her head that says it can't last. That eventually, what is _normal_ and _right_ needs to win out.

"Who cares about normal?" Wheeler asks.

"It's easy for you," she says. "Don't you _ever_ feel guilty?"

"Nope," he says. "And you shouldn't, either. We're all happy, aren't we? It's nobody else's damn business."

She wonders if she will ever be able to think that way. She hopes so. She wants to revel in loving two people, not shy away from it or have it ruined with guilt. She decides to make an effort at rebelling, at staking a claim on what _feels_ normal rather than what she has been told _is_ normal.

She stays with Wheeler all night, waking in his bed at sunrise.

And, the next night, she slips into Kwame's bed, and sleeps beside him. When he says, "Good morning," it feels like the most normal thing in the world.


	25. Hate

**Title/Prompt:** Hate  
**Rating/Warnings:** R for language, violence, brief sexual scenes.  
**Word count:** 4246  
**Summary:** Plunder will buy him out of any trouble, should it follow them. Plunder will chase away demons with cash.

******Notes: **Written for the dark fic challenge. This has been a work in progress for _ages_, and was originally going to have totally slashy Plunder/Bleak in it. I kind of failed there, but I hope this still serves as an interesting character study of Bleak. He is _such_ an intriguing guy. I think of all the 'bad guys' in canon, Bleak seems the most ruthless to me. I hope I've done him justice here.

* * *

The rain is driving down in icy, icy sheets, rippling through the silver streetlight and pouring down the windshield of the stationary car.

Bleak sits for several long moments, leather gloves creaking as he grips the steering wheel, staring out into the dark. Fuck Plunder, he thinks, but he climbs out of the car and into the rain, which immediately soaks him.

The night is pitch and quiet. Bleak's boots slosh through the water in the street, and the rain is cold against the top of his head and down the back of his neck. He cranes his head back to look up at the run-down apartment building. A few lights are on here and there, but most of the windows are dark.

Bleak throws his shoulder against the door without slowing his pace and it slams inward, splintering under his weight. He strides on, trailing water on the threadbare carpet. The apartment he wants is only just down the corridor, and that door gives just as easily, the chain snapping in two and rattling back against the door-frame, broken and useless.

He keeps moving, through the kitchen, and two steps further is the bedroom, a sleepy figure only just stirring, torn from slumber by the noise of the door being wrenched from its hinges.

Bleak puts two bullets into him and leaves before anyone else knows he's there.

* * *

Bleak's dripping water onto Plunder's hardwood floors, but he doesn't give a shit. Plunder's all wrapped up in some sort of silk robe, his hair spilling soft around his shoulders and a drink in his hand_. _Bleak hates him.

"Is it done?" Plunder asks, sinking back into an over-stuffed leather chair.

"Of course it is," Bleak says gruffly. He doesn't ask who it was. Or why it had to be done.

"Were you seen?"

Bleak grits his teeth momentarily. "Nope."

"Good. Your money's in the drawer of my desk." Plunder motions with his glass, and Bleak opens the drawer and pulls out a wad of cash, stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He doesn't bother counting it. It'll all be there – probably more than he was promised.

"You'll show yourself out, of course," Plunder says.

Bleak leaves without a word, a thin ribbon of rainwater traced on the wooden floors.

* * *

He stops on the way home and fucks a prostitute in an alley that stinks of garbage and piss, bass thumping from some underground club in the building across the street. He winds his hand into her matted hair and pulls hard.

Home, he stands in the shower, needles of hot water stinging against his skin, and he falls asleep on a hard mattress with a gun under his pillow.

He has successfully driven uneasiness away again, no questions asked, and life goes on.

* * *

Plunder's in a bad mood. Some deal with an oil tycoon that was a friend of a friend of his father's has fallen through, and he's already ranted and raved about it so much he's breathless.

He sinks down into the chair behind the desk in his office – _one_ of his offices; this is just the office he happens to be using today – and motions for Bleak to fetch him a drink.

Bleak bites back a retort. _I'm not a bleedin' waiter,_ he thinks, but he gets the drink and slams it onto the desk in front of Plunder, hoping this means they'll cut their losses and get the fuck out of here. It's too damn hot in this city, and there are too many buildings made of glass and chrome; things that shine in the fucking sun and hurt Bleak's eyes. The city's too new – it shot up quick, but organised, and the streets are straight and wide and there's nowhere to hide, no shadow or veil across things here.

It makes Bleak uneasy, being somewhere so sparkling.

"I'm not sure our usual tactics will work here," Plunder says eventually, staring out the window at the city skyline. He sounds bitter.

Bleak disagrees. He figures if he weren't so impossible to get to, roughing this guy up would change his mind real fast. Plunder, apparently, is against it. Maybe the family connection is holding him back – though Bleak never figured his boss to be a sentimental sort of guy.

Plunder reaches for his cane and runs his fingers across the ivory elephant's head. "Do you feel like a challenge, Mr. Bleak?"

Bleak looks at the back of Plunder's head warily. Plunder's chair doesn't spin back to face the room, but Bleak's silence is, apparently, enough to warrant further conversation.

"The deadline for this deal is Friday evening," Plunder says.

Bleak glances at his watch, out of habit. Friday evening is less than 48 hours away and Bleak is wary of the security surrounding this guy: roughing him up might change his mind, but Bleak's gotta get to him first. Besides that, the only reason he and Plunder are in town is to meet with him, and it's gonna look suspicious as hell if he suddenly shows up dead after turning Plunder's business venture down.

"See if you can change his mind," Plunder says quietly, finally spinning his chair back to face Bleak.

Bleak clenches a fist, slowly. "Not sure that's gonna work," he says, diplomatically. "This guy's got bodyguards and a security system like bloody Alcatraz."

"I'm aware it will be a challenge," Plunder says, sounding bored. "But this is what I hire you for."

Bleak feels a hot spire of anger rise within him. "I'm only one man," he says. "Ain't no way I can do this clean. Ain't no way I can get to him without shitloads of compromise, boss."

Plunder swills his drink. "Try."

"I'm tellin' you," Bleak says quietly, through gritted teeth, "this is a bad idea. This ain't gonna work." He leans on his fists, braced on Plunder's desk, and looks down into Plunder's face.

He stares back at him, unblinking. "Why not?" he asks, impetuously.

Bleak hates how stupid this man can be, sometimes. He's rich and he knows his way through loopholes and broken laws and legal systems, but when it comes to the dirty work, he's a fucking idiot.

This is the closest Bleak has ever come to just saying no, but he finds that years of habit aren't quite ready to be broken.

For a moment, he wants to wrap his hand into Plunder's hair and slam his head down on the fucking desk, splitting his skull open. The image blurs for a moment with the memory of rain and bass and the whore in the alleyway, and Bleak barely resists spitting onto the floor.

"I'll be back," he mutters. He storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the elevator, he leans against the wall and promises himself that if everything does go to hell, he'll do his best to make it back and put a bullet in Plunder's head for all the trouble he's caused.

* * *

Driving through the wide, shimmering streets, Bleak figures that Plunder probably has enough money to get him out of whatever trouble he lands himself in. If Plunder has taught him nothing else, it's that money can buy anything, and there's always someone, somewhere, willing to sell their soul for the right price.

Failing that, Plunder will at least fly his ass to Mexico or somewhere until they figure out what the next step is.

Bleak, however, has no desire to have a death sentence hanging over him, whether or not it turns out to be a real threat. He knows the best way to avoid it is to just go with his gut and not do what he's about to do, but going back to Plunder with nothing taken care of isn't exactly tempting, either.

He drives right to the gate and buzzes, says he's with Plunder and needs to see Parker now. They don't want to let him in, but Bleak can be pretty persuasive when he needs to be – something he figures he picked up from Plunder; that sleazy sort of charm that all these rich assholes seem to have in their blood.

Parker's no exception, though he doesn't show any hospitality to Bleak. He's flanked by two guys almost as big as Bleak, black suits, holsters against their ribs. They take the knife tucked into the front of Bleak's belt at the door and show him into a study with dark, shiny floorboards. They stand either side of Parker, who waits silently.

"You two sure do look pretty," Bleak says, smirking. (One thing he's always been grateful for is that despite his ceremony and pomp and shitty fashion sense, Plunder has never tried to inflict it upon Bleak.)

"What is it you want, Mr. Bleak?" Parker asks impatiently. "I'm a busy man."

He's older than Plunder, short silver hair and pale eyes, but a smooth face. He wears a blue suit, custom-made, no doubt, but less flamboyant than the suits Plunder wears.

Bleak wonders what slight twist of fate may have created a future where he worked for Parker instead of Plunder, and whether or not he might hate things less if that were the case.

"Mr. Plunder wants you to understand that his offer still stands," Bleak says, clasping his hands behind his back. There's a gun at the small of his back, and he's too relieved that he wasn't properly searched at the door to wonder what might have happened if he had been. (Sometimes, rich assholes like this feel safe because they've never been threatened by someone like Bleak. They don't tend to run in the same circles, and Bleak wants to scoff at the bodyguards who have probably never actually dealt with any real combat at all.)

"I have rejected Mr. Plunder's offer," Parker says crisply. "Unless you've got a new offer on the table, one that works more in my favour, I suggest you go back there and tell him nothing has changed."

Bleak wonders if this asshole will be so smug when his bodyguards are lying dead on the floor. He figures probably not, and wonders briefly how Plunder would react if _he_ were to die. (He finds himself hoping, suddenly, that he's more than just an indispensable lackey.)

Bleak's pretty sure there are security cameras all through this place, and maybe sound equipment too, but he's also pretty sure Blight owes Plunder some sort of favour, and so he's not too concerned about video evidence when he shoots the first bodyguard in the face.

The other guy moves faster than Bleak anticipates, and the bullet grazes his arm. He hisses a breath in through his teeth and fires another couple of quick shots, both of them missing Parker's second man.

Parker's on the floor, yelling something, and it's when his bodyguard stops to try and haul him backwards that Bleak hits him, the bullet going straight through his temple.

Parker's hands go up immediately, and his eyes are wide, spatters of blood dark on his pale face. "Don't shoot!" he cries. "Don't shoot!"

"Get behind your desk and sign those bloody papers," Bleak says.

* * *

Bleak's arm is throbbing and blood is sticky and dark on his skin. It's run down to his wrist and soaked into his jeans. He looks down at his lap as he pulls up at a red light, and flips his cell phone open.

"What now, Bleak?" Plunder asks. He sounds tense, and Bleak figures the last phone call put him on edge, enough so that he's actually worried about what to do next.

"Can't come to the office," Bleak says. "I'm a bit of a mess, boss."

Plunder tuts quickly. "Wait outside for me."

"I'll be a half hour or so," Bleak says. "Gotta make a stop." He snaps his cell shut again without waiting for an answer, and steers the car forward. The sun is set now, and twilight is over the city, which is lit up with gold and yellow lights.

The papers, signed with Parker's signature, are in the briefcase on the backseat, and Blight's mocking laugh is still ringing in Bleak's head. There's a trace of smoke in the sky behind him, a trail over the city, grounded in the ruins of Parker's mansion, which will be alight for hours yet.

He's not completely convinced that Parker understood: that there's no technological evidence left to tie Bleak to that moment, thanks to MAL wiping the security system; but even so, the bullet wound, the dead bodyguards, and the fire all seem like kind of a bad omen to Bleak, and he wants to get as far the fuck away as he can.

He stops by a warehouse, the evening shift moving about in the distance, all cranes and lights, and dumps Parker's bodyguards behind a towering stack of pallets and flattened cardboard boxes. Then he drives away again, glancing in his rear-vision mirror. Nobody's looking, nobody's taking notice, and even if they were, the light this far from the factory is too blue and dark to make him anything more than a shadow.

* * *

Plunder slides into the backseat only five minutes after Bleak pulls into the office parking garage. "Drive," he says, and Bleak grits his teeth and squeals out of the lot, back into the Thursday evening traffic. He's driving with one arm and he thinks for a moment about suggesting that Plunder take the wheel and let him deal with cleaning himself up a little. But he doesn't. He keeps his mouth shut.

Plunder snaps the briefcase open and runs a hand over the papers. "He signed them," he says, happily. "I knew he would."

"Yeah, well," Bleak mutters, "there might be a few problems."

"Your alibi is sorted," Plunder says smoothly.

"Got a story for this hole in my arm?" Bleak asks sarcastically, catching Plunder's eye in the mirror.

Plunder frowns.

"Blight wiped the security monitors," Bleak continues, as though he hadn't said anything. "Wasn't sure what to do with the bodies. Tossed 'em over by some warehouses on the industrial side of town. Guess they'll be found eventually. There's a lot of blood on Parker's carpet, but I'm hopin' the fire will take care of that."

"Your blood?" Plunder asks crisply.

Bleak swallows and looks down at his arm. "Maybe a little."

"What about Parker?"

"Said the usual," Bleak says. "I'd be back if he didn't stick to the story. He'd have a bullet in his head if the police so much as sniffed after us. Suggested he make up some bullshit about walkin' in on a robbery or somethin' to explain where the hell his bodyguards disappeared to."

"How noble of them, to offer themselves as hostages in return for Parker's survival," Plunder says drily, looking out the window.

"Not sure he'll stick to it," Bleak warns. He looks down at the gummy blood on his arm. "The cops only gotta see this to know I was there."

Plunder runs a hand over his face. "Get us to the airport." He flips his cell phone open. "I'll have the jet ready."

* * *

Plunder's jet is cruising on auto-pilot, which always makes Bleak nervous, considering Blight's the one who designed it all. (He doesn't trust her – not one bit, and as far as he's concerned, if she and Plunder have an argument she'll probably see fit to just hit a button somewhere and explode anything with her fingerprints on it into a million little pieces.)

Plunder's sitting in a plush leather seat, his seatbelt loose, a drink in his hand and a frown on his face as Bleak swabs the gash on his arm with alcohol.

He growls through his teeth as the blood starts running again, the wound stinging. It's deeper than he thought – more than a graze, really. The bullet hit him proper, just got the side of his arm rather than going through anything. A decent chip has been taken out and it hurts like hell.

"Did Parker take your threat of return seriously?" Plunder asks.

"He watched me shoot his bodyguards before I set fire to his house," Bleak says, clumsily trying to bind the wound with a strip of sterile bandage. "If he don't take us seriously after that, not sure what else we can do..." The bandage falls loose. "Shit."

Plunder sighs and reaches across to bandage it for him. He pulls it too tight and Bleak nearly king-hits him.

"Well, he signed the papers," Plunder says after a moment. "That's all that really matters."

* * *

With all the travelling and running around he does for his job, a home isn't something Bleak can lay claim to. But home hasn't ever been a comfortable idea anyway – so long as he can find some place dark, and dry, and maybe a little on the small side, he can get himself a decent night's sleep. Bright lights and noise and space – they make his eyes ache and itch, make him tense and hard with anxiety.

He leaves Plunder to his penthouse and he goes in search of something more suited to his own tastes.

He keeps his sore arm close to his side and picks a bar he knows never closes. This part of town is all alleyways and dingy businesses with bars on the windows, neon signs declaring strippers or beer, or both.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, is a tight knot of worry that has him on a Most Wanted list; that has the police closing a net around him, Parker screaming accusations, his skin still smeared with blood and ash.

He loosens the knot with alcohol, handing notes over the bar, each one of them soiled with death and smoke.

* * *

The alleyway is wet with rain. Bleak can see his breath as he leans one hand against the wall, his other delving into the fly of his jeans. He pisses behind a trash can, listening to the noises of the city around him. A siren wails a way over, bass thuds from a nightclub, an argument from the strip club on the corner spills onto the street.

The booze has loosened Bleak up enough that the worry has been replaced with reckless bravery. Plunder will buy him out of any trouble, should it follow them. Plunder will chase away demons with cash.

Bleak wonders if he can really trust Plunder, when it's Plunder's fault he's in this position anyway. He growls and spits into the gutter. Sometimes he wishes he had the same power over Plunder as Plunder seems to have over him.

* * *

"Bleak, what time do you call this?" Plunder's voice is angry and loud, even through the intercom.

Bleak leans against the buzzer again, beer still on his breath. "We got a problem," he says.

Plunder tuts and releases the security door. Bleak pushes his way into the building and takes the elevator up to the penthouse, cursing and muttering all the way. His stomach is churning and empty. His arm is throbbing, the bandage pinching a little too tight.

Plunder is in a silk robe, his hair loose – though Bleak would bet money on the fact he probably had it in a hairnet before the buzzer rang.

"What's the problem?" Plunder asks impatiently. "If this is about Parker..."

It's not about Parker; not really. Bleak doesn't know what it's about. He can feel hatred running like blood in his veins, and fear, and adrenaline, like always. He never feels safe; he never feels rested; he never feels at ease. He just wants Plunder to understand, just once, what it's like to be so on edge all the time, not knowing if you can trust the people you need to trust, not knowing what tomorrow will be like. He wants Plunder to lie awake at night.

Plunder is faster than Bleak expected him to be. He ducks his first punch, the blow just glancing across his cheek. He gives a shout of surprise and anger, and then Bleak connects with him properly, not having slowed down in order to give Plunder a chance to duck the second punch. Plunder sinks to his knees and spits blood, but Bleak winds a hand into his soft hair and pulls him up again.

"If you –"

"If I _what_?" Bleak asks icily, and he's gratified to see fear pass through Plunder's eyes.

"Listen, Bleak," Plunder says hastily, "if this is about money..."

Bleak splutters wordlessly for a moment, anger bitter on his tongue. "You –"

"You don't want to do anything too hasty," Plunder says breathlessly, squinting up at Bleak, his lip already swelling.

"Why not?" Bleak asks, winding his fist deeper into Plunder's hair. (He wants to rip it out – just rip it right out.)

"Because I'm all that stands between you and a jail cell," Plunder says through gritted teeth.

Bleak knows that all too well.

"Why don't you tell me what the problem is?" Plunder says, and Bleak can't believe how smooth his voice can sound in this sort of situation.

The trouble is, Bleak isn't sure _what_ the problem is. The problem is the throbbing wound on his arm; the ache in his gut. The problem is the split across his knuckles and the smell of blood that seems to cling to his skin.

"Tomorrow is gonna be the same damn thing," Bleak says suddenly, pulling Plunder's head back a little with each word. "Do this, Bleak, do that, Bleak, bloody go and do this and that..."

"Maybe you need a vacation," Plunder murmurs.

Bleak lets go of his hair and punches him again, sending him to the floor. Plunder doesn't stay there, he scrambles up and presses his back against the wall, tense, his eyes darting nervously from left to right. Bleak tightens his fist again.

"Parker won't talk," Plunder says, licking blood off his lower lip. "You don't need to worry about that."

"I'm not," Bleak says.

Plunder wipes his hand across his mouth. "Then what are you worrying about?"

"You've got no bleedin' idea," Bleak says suddenly. "You've got no bleedin' idea what I do for you."

"I know exactly what you do for me," Plunder says crisply. "I only ever pretend to be ignorant, Bleak, and even then only to the authorities."

Bleak folds his arms across his chest, gritting his teeth as the bullet wound in his arm throbs again.

"However," Plunder says carefully, raking his hand through his shoulder-length hair, "perhaps I have been a little.. demanding, lately. Perhaps it's time we converted our latest business – deals..." He draws the word out a little. "Perhaps it's time we converted business into leisure. Take some time to regroup."

"Fuck," Bleak spits. "You think I need a vacation?"

"It certainly couldn't hurt," Plunder says, watching him warily. "Take the jet. Take one of the penthouses, the beach houses, whatever you want."

Bleak can't imagine anything worse. He thinks if he wants to feel better, he needs to beat the living shit out of Plunder, but even as he stands there staring at him, he can feel the adrenaline draining away into exhaustion.

"When was the last time you slept?" Plunder asks abruptly. "It's four in the morning and I know you didn't sleep Thursday night. Tonight?"

"Nope," Bleak mutters.

Plunder points down the corridor, a dozen doors leading to a dozen different rooms. "Get some sleep, Bleak," he says. "And consider this your first and final warning. You punch me like that again and –"

"And what?" Bleak asks gruffly. And this – _this_ is suddenly his advantage. Because Plunder may dare to hurt someone, may dare to pull a trigger – but not against Bleak.

Bleak realises now that he _does_ hold a certain power over his boss. He could kill Plunder if he really wanted to. He killed two people yesterday, and there have been more before that. And Plunder knows that – he must fear Bleak, sometimes. (The thought is gratifying.)

"Just watch yourself," Bleak says, feeling the need to voice some sort of threat. "You ever fuck me around, Plunder, it'll be the last thing you do."

The slightest falter crosses Plunder's face, before he masks it again. "Have I given you reason to doubt me?"

"Not sure I need a reason," Bleak says. "So long as you understand what the end result will be."

A muscle twitches in Plunder's jaw.

Bleak strides past him, his boots heavy on the floor. He slams the door of the nearest bedroom and leans against the wall, his heart hammering, his blood pulsing. This feeling, this adrenaline is a constant weight, something he no longer relishes. It's a necessity, it's survival.

He hates it.


	26. Alarm

**Title/Prompt:** Alarm  
**Rating/Warnings:** G  
**Word count:** 2539  
**Summary:** A faulty fire alarm sends the Planeteers out onto the street during an overnight stay at a hotel. Kwame keeps Gi warm.

******Notes: **Whoops! Been a while since I stepped in here! I've been toying in other fandoms. This one is unbeta'd, and I started it a few hours ago and made myself stay up until it was finished. I have no idea where it came from, okay. I'd started a different Captain Planet fic the other night but rapidly lost interest with it. I think I just wanted some snuggly Kwame/Gi...

(Ugh, as soon as I post, I see a million mistakes. I've fixed a few, but I'm sure I've missed more!)

* * *

"Gi..."

Gi's head was ringing, her nose was stuffed, and her throat felt like it was on fire. She sat up groggily, Linka's hands light on her shoulders.

Her voice was no more than a rasp. "What?"

"We have to go," Linka said apologetically. She touched the back of her hand to Gi's cheek gently, a frown of concern marking her face as she felt the warmth of fever.

Gi realised it wasn't her head ringing – it was a bell, loud and shrill, somewhere deep in the hotel. A fire alarm or something – and there were shouts and crashes and the heavy tread of feet up and down the corridor outside.

"Is there a fire?" she asked Linka tiredly, slumping back onto her mattress. Even the threat of a fire couldn't tempt her out of bed – the hotel's sheets were scratchy and stiff, but the mattress was comfortable, and Gi's whole body ached with flu. She didn't want to move.

"_Nyet,_ I do not think so," Linka said, peering out the window into the street below. "It seems to be a false alarm. But we still need to evacuate."

Gi gave a moan of protest as a loud fist hammered against their door.

"Yo!" Wheeler shouted. "Get the lead out!"

Linka let him in, pulling the hotel bathrobe around herself tightly and glaring at Wheeler. He grinned at her, his hair flat on one side, his face still pale with sleep. "Lookin' good, babe," he said. "I like your jammies."

Linka muttered something under her breath and stomped over to Gi again. Her voice was gentle. "Gi," she said, "I know you are not feeling well, but we need to go."

"Oh, Gi," Ma-Ti said sympathetically. "You finally succumbed."

"I'm only human," Gi answered thickly. She swallowed, wincing as her throat fired up again.

"Want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you down?" Wheeler asked, leaning over her bed and grinning at her.

"That is the last thing she wants!" Linka snapped at him, pushing him away. "Leave her alone."

Wheeler grinned apologetically at Gi and strolled back toward the door. "Well, hurry it up, either way," he said. "They want us out of here."

Linka helped Gi out of bed, guiding her arms into the terrycloth sleeves of another bathrobe and cinching the belt for her. "I am sure we will be back in bed soon," she assured Gi. "It seems like a false alarm to me."

"I hope so," Gi said, wobbling a little. "I don't have the energy to put a fire out."

She followed the other Planeteers out, Kwame waiting for her by the door. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "I thought we told you to take it easy," he said, smiling at her in good humour.

Gi felt too miserable to smile back. "You did." She started coughing then, her throat raw and stinging.

She'd waved away concerns when she'd started with the odd sneeze or sniffle. Ma-Ti had dosed her up with some sort of foul-smelling, bitter-tasting concoction that was supposed to alleviate her symptoms. She'd insisted that was enough. But over the past 24 hours she'd felt herself growing worse, and it had been a huge relief when they'd finally wrapped up their latest case against Skumm. By then, however, it had grown dark, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Kwame had suggested spending the night in the city, and she had agreed immediately, the thought of a hot bath and a ready bed too much to resist.

Gi coughed most of the way down all four flights, competing with the shrill noise of the alarm as it echoed in the stairwell. She was breathless and in pain by the time she reached the bottom, her bones aching.

"It's freezing out here," she croaked, following Linka's blonde ponytail out to the street, hotel slippers slapping at the soles of their feet. There were a lot of sour-faced people standing in the light drizzle, wrapped in white bathrobes, hair pillow-flattened, feet jammed into slippers or polished shoes that peeked out from beneath their pyjamas.

"I'll go and let 'em know we're out," Wheeler said, waving towards the frazzled-looking night staff.

Linka followed him, clearly not trusting him to do a satisfactory job on his own.

"I cannot see any smoke," Ma-Ti said thoughtfully, his hands in the pockets of his bathrobe. Suchi peeked out the front of it, sitting in against the warmth of Ma-Ti's chest.

Gi tiredly thought Suchi had the right idea, and hugged her arms around herself as the night chilled itself further into her bones.

"Perhaps the alarm is faulty," Kwame said.

"Perhaps," Ma-Ti agreed. He glanced down at his ring, and then up at the building. "I should help," he said suddenly. "I can let them know if anyone is still inside." He followed Wheeler and Linka, disappearing into the crowd.

Gi shivered. "What time is it?"

Kwame glanced at her, and then at his watch. "Ah," he said. "I am not sure. I forgot to set my watch to this time zone."

"I guess it doesn't matter anyway," Gi said. She sniffled and pulled the bathrobe tight around her shoulders. "It's so cold."

Kwame pulled her close, his arms draping themselves around her waist, one hand spanned wide against her back.

She coughed into the sleeve of her bathrobe and then huddled closer to him, closing her eyes. "Don't breathe too close to me," she warned. "You'll get my germs."

He laughed. "I will take my chances," he said. "Anyway, you coughed on me all the way down those stairs."

"No I didn't," she protested, but the high pitch of her indignant tone made her voice fail almost completely. She gave a short sigh of frustration before she figured it wasn't worth trying to repeat herself.

With her eyes closed, the alarm seemed louder than ever. She could hear the hotel staff urging people to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Kwame took a few shuffling steps with her and then stopped, his arms secure around her, his chest warm and firm against her cheek. Through her closed eyelids, Gi could see the strobe of emergency lights. She heard the crackle of radios and the march of heavy boots, the squeal of metal as the fire-fighters scrolled equipment from their trucks.

"Can you see smoke?" she asked Kwame drowsily.

"No." His breath was warm in her hair, his mouth against the crown of her head. "I do not think there is any danger. But it is better to be sure, than to be sorry later."

She nodded, and shivered again as the wind swept against her back. Kwame slipped his bathrobe open and wrapped Gi in against his chest. Gi blinked, her lashes catching against the thin material of his t-shirt, before she relaxed again. Her fingers were curled inside the sleeves of her robe, her arms tucked up and trapped between her chest and Kwame's.

Her feet were like ice – she wriggled her toes deeper into the cheap hotel slippers and wished she'd had the foresight to pull some proper shoes on – or, at least, a pair of socks. "Are you as cold as I am?" she asked huskily.

"I think you are feeling it a little more than I am," Kwame said.

Gi smiled at the diplomatic pattern of his words. She was sure Linka would lecture her later – telling her she should have taken it easy as soon as the first aches and sniffles appeared; reminding her of their insistence that she take a day or two to fend off any germs that may soon take proper hold. Gi had refused, and it was nice of Kwame to only offer sympathy and kindness, instead of a (probably deserved) speech that told her she had done something wrong; that she deserved a few miserable days of illness.

"You feel very warm to me, Gi," he said suddenly, sounding concerned.

"But I feel so cold," she complained, and a ribbon of flame ran down her throat.

"The sooner we get you back to bed, the better," Kwame said. His thumb touched her brow, his hand glancing over the top of her head. "Perhaps we should just head for the geo-cruiser and get you home."

"It's on the roof of the hotel," Gi reminded him, opening her eyes to look up at him. "I just want to go back to bed as soon as we get the all-clear."

"All right." He wrapped his bathrobe around her a little tighter, pulling her into the warmth of his chest.

Gi carefully slid her arms around his waist and hugged him, shivering only slightly. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from him. His chest was firm muscle against her, and she wondered idly why she had never noticed before; why she had never realised how broad and well-built he was.

Probably because Wheeler was always the one showing off his muscles and boasting ridiculous anecdotes about his impossible strength. Kwame just went about things quietly.

Still, there was something else warming her now, something stirring in her chest, in her stomach, in the very tips of her fingers. She frowned and cleared her throat as gently as she could, trying to shake the feeling away.

Kwame's hand slid over the rough terrycloth of the robe, his fingers spanning wide, circling slowly over her back.

She wondered if she should tell him how nice it felt – and then she realised maybe it felt a little too nice, and her skin probably wasn't supposed to feel so electric; her spine wasn't supposed to thrill beneath the pressure of his hand; her knees weren't supposed to tremble when his thumb brushed over the back of her neck.

She kept quiet, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, her breath damp and warm against the t-shirt he had been sleeping in. She tried to take a deep breath in through her nose, to catch the warmth and intimate scent of him, but her nose was blocked. She leaned a little closer to him, almost completely oblivious to whatever was happening behind them, no matter how loud the disgruntled hotel patrons were.

The alarm finally shut off, and silence fell briefly over the street like a blanket.

Kwame gave a sigh of relief. "Let us hope we can go back to bed soon," he said, his voice against the top of Gi's head.

Gi didn't answer him. She felt drowsy and content. Life as a Planeteer had led her to believe falling asleep on your feet was totally possible – she had come close several times, and had actually seen Wheeler just topple over once, waking once he'd hit the ground. But she had never felt so close to actually doing so. She was sure Kwame would hold her up if her legs did happen to give out. She was sure he'd simply sweep her up into his arms and carry her back to bed if he realised she had fallen asleep.

Wheeler's voice drifted over the murmur of the crowd as the other Planeteers returned. "There's room enough for two inside my bathrobe, Linka. If you're tempted."

"I am not," Linka replied dryly.

"I dunno," Wheeler said, clucking his tongue. "Gi's lookin' pretty comfortable with Kwame over there."

"Because of Kwame, no doubt."

"Ouch," Wheeler complained.

Gi would have laughed if she'd had the energy. But she didn't – and she didn't want to draw attention to herself, in case Kwame grew self-conscious with the others so close again; in case he wanted to separate.

His arms seemed only to tighten around her again, though. She felt a new urge to take all the weight off her feet and simply let him hug her to her completely, her trust in him being the only thing which prevented her from crumpling to the ground.

She began to hope that the mystery of the fire alarm would take ages to solve, and that they would have no choice but to stand there together for a long while.

As soon as she thought this, though, she heard someone give the all-clear. Apologies from the hotel manager rang out across the wet street, and the promise of a free breakfast to all patrons followed.

"Sweet," Wheeler said approvingly.

"Come on, Gi," Kwame said gently. "Another hour or two of sleep will do you the world of good."

She felt the chill of the early morning air against her again as he eased away from her. She rubbed her face tiredly and followed the Planeteers back inside. Kwame took her hand and walked up the stairs with her – the demand for the elevators was too high to even bother waiting.

"No wonder obesity is such a problem," Wheeler grumbled loudly. "It's not like we're in a sky-rise or nothin'. Eight floors ain't like climbin' a mountain."

"Shut up, Yankee," Linka said tiredly.

Suchi chattered softly and emerged from beneath Ma-Ti's bathrobe, sitting on the Heart Planeteer's shoulder and curling his tail around his neck.

Gi smiled at him, and Suchi blew her a kiss before he decided it was better hiding in against Ma-Ti's chest. He disappeared down the open neck of the robe again, settling in as a lump against Ma-Ti's side.

Gi sighed and wished she could stop Kwame and do the same – have him tuck his robe around her and keep her warm with his body heat.

"Goodnight kiss?" Wheeler requested, stopping as Linka keyed open the door to the room she shared with Gi.

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Go to bed, Wheeler," she said. "And please wake up with less energy."

He grinned and bounced up and down a couple of times. "No promises." He took a lively couple of steps towards Gi and crashed a kiss against her forehead. "Feel better," he said.

"Thanks, Wheeler." She smiled at him. Ma-Ti touched her cheek and frowned.

"I will make you some tea when we get back to Hope Island," he said. "Something to fight your fever, and any aches and pains."

"Thanks," Gi said, hoping she didn't sound like she was dreading it.

Kwame squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head. "Get some sleep," he said. "I am sure you need it."

"Yeah," she agreed. She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Kwame."

His fingertips grazed her palm, his thumb sweeping across the back of her hand before he let her go. "Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight."

Gi followed Linka into their room, and the door closed softly behind them.


	27. Eat

**Title/Prompt:** Eat  
**Rating/Warnings:** G  
**Word count:** 1616  
**Summary:** Wheeler and Linka make the most of their location and indulge in a midnight snack.

**Notes:** Whoops! Looks like I've been away for a year or so. I've wanted to write another CP fic for _ages_ but it's been a struggle to get the motivation up and I don't know whyyy. I'm taking part in _cottoncandy_bingo_ on dreamwidth at the moment though, and one of the squares is _taste_ - so I decided to try and write a bit of Wheeler/Linka fluff. (Combined with the 'eat' square from my 100 situations table.)

It's not the best thing I've ever written but I'm desperate to revisit this fandom and these characters again, so let's hope this isn't the last CP fic I write for 2014!**  
**

* * *

Linka leaned her forehead against the chilled glass of the vending machine, the coloured candy wrappers and soda bottles all sliding and blurring in front of her tired eyes.

"Hey, babe."

She sighed, breath fogging against the glass. "It took my dollar," she said sullenly.

Wheeler gave a soft laugh behind her. "Hungry, huh?"

"Mm," she hummed, pushing her thumb against the vending machine buttons again.

Wheeler took her hand and tugged gently. "C'mon," he said. "If you're gonna have a midnight snack, you're gonna do it right."

* * *

Linka was too tired to protest as Wheeler led her out into the street. The night air was warm, and it was late, but the city was lit up and their shadows spun and flickered on the sidewalk around them as they strolled hand-in-hand.

There were still people spilling from doorways of buildings; music thumped in a dull rhythm behind the walls.

"Where are we going?" Linka asked, irritable. It was _late_, after all, and she had bruises on her knees and her ribs still felt tender, and exhaustion was a dead weight across her eyes. All she'd wanted was a quick snack before bed. The _other_ Planeteers were in bed, slumbering away the memories of their last mission.

"Trust me," Wheeler said.

"Trust you," Linka muttered.

He flashed a grin at her and tugged her along beside him.

* * *

They ended up in a corner diner, lights bright above them, red sunken booths and laminated menus. Wheeler ordered for her while Linka rested her chin tiredly in her hand and gazed past her own reflection in the window to the street outside.

Her stomach felt hollow, but she couldn't help but think she was more tired than anything, and she regretted letting Wheeler talk her out of a quick snack from the vending machine before she could tumble into her soft, wide hotel bed.

"Quite a day, huh," Wheeler said, and even the tone of his voice seemed duller, his smile not quite reaching his eyes like it usually did.

"A long day," Linka said, nodding.

"You'll feel better about it when you've eaten somethin'," Wheeler said confidently.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I will?"

"Sure," he said, waving his hand and settling back against the padded seat behind him. "Much better than a packet of chips from a vending machine."

"We will see," Linka said archly, not yet willing to give in.

Her mouth watered, though, when the warmed plate of fries and a burger thick with cheese and ketchup was set down in front of her.

"Too bad the others are missing out," Wheeler said, not really sounding sorry at all. He dragged a fry through a pool of ketchup on the side of his plate and grinned at her. "Their loss, huh."

"Kwame will not forgive you," Linka said, smiling back at him.

"I don't care," Wheeler sighed happily. "This was so worth it."

They ate in silence for a while, listening to the chatter from the other booths around them and grinning at one another now and then between bites of burger or cold mouthfuls of soda.

"You were right," Linka conceded after a while. "This is much better than a snack from a vending machine."

"Hey, I was right," Wheeler repeated, a smug glow practically radiating off him. "Will you admit that in front of the others at breakfast tomorrow?"

"Is this not breakfast?" Linka asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Who knows?" Wheeler said, looking at his watch. "I've got nine o'clock, and I know that ain't right."

Linka nodded. It was a lot later than nine – after midnight, maybe, though there were still plenty of people out and about. "What day is it?" she asked after a moment.

"Tuesday?" Wheeler asked.

They both shrugged, and Linka gave a soft laugh. "Jet lag," she said, pulling a face.

Linka finished her burger but pushed the rest of her fries towards Wheeler, too full to manage all of them. She yawned into her napkin and watched him sleepily, more content now they'd eaten.

Wheeler eventually pushed his plate away with a happy sigh. "Don't feel human until I've eaten," he said. He flexed his fingers, stretching the skin around his grazed knuckles. "How'd you fare this time?" he asked.

"Bruised knees, and he hit me in the ribs with that stupid stick of his," Linka said, cupping a hand around the bruise she was sure was under her t-shirt.

They compared bruises for a while, until the waitress came past in her red and white uniform and asked if they wanted dessert.

Linka shook her head, but Wheeler ordered a slice of strawberry pie and ice cream.

"How can you still be hungry?" Linka asked incredulously. It never ceased to amaze her just how much Wheeler could eat in any one sitting.

"Hey, we're not stranded in the jungle or the desert for once," Wheeler said, raising an eyebrow. "We've got an overnight stop in a place with all-night burgers and pie, and I'm gonna take advantage of it."

Linka grinned at him and rested her cheek in her hand, feeling tired again. She almost wished Wheeler hadn't ordered anything else; she wanted to go back to the hotel and tumble into bed.

She had to admit, though, it was nice sitting in the booth in the diner, too – low chatter and laughter around them, old rock 'n' roll records drifting from the jukebox in the far corner.

Wheeler took a bite of his pie and fell back with a groan. "This is so good," he said, vanilla ice cream on his lips. He passed his spoon over to Linka. "One bite," he said. "You won't regret it."

Linka heaved a sigh as though he was causing her a great inconvenience, but her eyelashes fluttered closed as she took in the warm, flaky pastry and the tart strawberries, the softly-melted vanilla ice cream.

"Good, right?" Wheeler asked happily, pulling the spoon from her loose fingers.

"Very good," Linka agreed.

"So that's twice I've been right tonight," Wheeler added cheekily, scooping another mouthful onto his spoon.

She fought a smile. "Do not push your luck, Wheeler."

He laughed and held the spoon towards her again, nudging the plate to the middle of their table.

She relented, though she really _was_ too full to be even considering eating more. The pie was delicious though – warm and just tart enough to counter the sweetness of the ice cream; a perfect blend of Linka's favourite flavours.

"Why strawberry?" she asked Wheeler after a moment. "Is it not the proper American choice to order apple?" She passed the spoon back to him.

"Yeah, but you look more like a strawberry sort of girl," he said with a grin.

"You are making a lot of assumptions tonight."

"I'm right on most of 'em though, huh?" Wheeler asked.

She found herself smiling back at him, and leaned forward when he held another mouthful of pie towards her, ice cream melting slowly on the spoon.

* * *

They were both drowsy as they made their way back to the hotel. Linka let Wheeler take her hand again and they weaved slowly up the sidewalk, feet scuffing tiredly, eyes glazed, bodies warm and full.

"You know what else is great about being able to spend the night somewhere that's not, like, a desert, or a jungle, or a cave, or a jail cell somewhere?" Wheeler asked quietly.

"Hm?" Linka asked. She was almost tired enough to lean her head against his arm as they walked, but she didn't really want to fan the little flame of self-indulgence any more than she already had.

"A big, soft bed," Wheeler said dreamily. "Almost as good as a burger and a slice of pie."

"Almost," Linka agreed.

He grinned at her.

* * *

Linka was almost asleep by the time they shuffled into the hotel elevator.

"Gonna need me to carry you to bed?" Wheeler asked.

She slumped against the wall and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Do not even think about it," she warned him.

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. After a moment she gave in and leaned against him, almost dozing on her feet. Wheeler's jacket smelled of smoke and ocean, his skin of cheap hotel soap and warmth.

"C'mon," he said, all too soon. He led her off the elevator to her door, fingers tangled in hers again.

"Thank you for the midnight snack," Linka said, fumbling with her room key.

"Well, I'm not sure how close to midnight we are, but you're welcome," Wheeler said. "You can trust me when it comes to food, y'know. I usually know best."

She laughed and swung her door open. "_Da_, you do," she said. "Goodnight, Wheeler."

"Night, babe."

His fingers fell from hers, but she clasped the front of his jacket and stretched up on her toes to press a soft kiss against his mouth, the memory of strawberries and vanilla ice cream still lighting her senses.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered.

He kissed her again, hands against her waist, stroking slowly and carefully over the thin material of her t-shirt. "Sweet dreams," he repeated.

She smiled at him, and he grinned back at her until the door to her room closed gently between them.


End file.
